Darkness Falls
by wsprsndadrk
Summary: A/U: Vegeta, abducted from Earth in the midst of a search for allies, has become a puppet: used against his will as a weapon, fighting for a cause he can't care about. His controller, an unwilling, sympathetic Bulma. Together, they try to break free from the bonds of slavery without losing hope, their minds, or one another.
1. Chapter 1

Her breath sat like a jagged rock, trapped between her rib cage and her heart. The frozen lump stubbornly refused to be dislodged, despite the number of times she swallowed or how fast her heart fluttered.

Slowly, she approached the crater of scarred earth, so newly made it still belched smoke and rained soil. Peering over the edge of broken boulders and charred terrain, she could see glimpses of him through the patches of dying flame and heated smoke. His back was bowed in a feral arc, arms and legs twisting in obvious agony. The aura of his wrath crackled weakly, refusing to submit, even as his blood pooled around him, steaming as it cooled. She flinched at the sudden sound of hissing and sucking; his own struggle for air. Unlike her breath, only held hostage within her lungs, his battle for oxygen was against the blistering, bubbling hole in his chest.

A stone was dislodged under her shifting weight and cracked down the edge of the sloping crater. It bounced and flipped through the air as it tumbled. Every ricochet against the hard earth was a thunderous crash in her ears. It came to rest against his side, but as her eyes shifted from the treacherous stone to his face, she gasped in sudden shock. His eyes pierced through the smoke of the crater as well as the fog of her mind, and a stab of fear gripped her.

He held his hand out to her, his fingers splayed as though he could reach her even at this distance. She couldn't move. Somehow, his gaze would not allow her to retreat. His eyes opened a path to penetrate her awareness, and a peculiar sensation brushed against her consciousness. Instinctively, as though her animal brain reared up to protect her, she felt her mind partition and surround the intruding, alien sensation. Without permission or cognition, as if the strange presence triggered a response to discern friend or foe, this new animal part of her plucked at the dark sentience within her mind and unfolded it.

She trembled, and though her eyes burned with ash and dust and tears, she did not cry. Instead, she found herself descending into the crater. Closer to him. He beckoned her because he needed her.

Her face twisted into a frown. No. He saw an opportunity and wished to take it. His decisiveness and utter commitment to carry out his wish is what she had mistaken as need. How she understood this, she didn't know.

She knew also that he could kill her, and would - but only if she lost her value as an opportunity. She stopped moving closer to him only when she was just out of reach.

He tried to lift his head, but fell back as his body convulsed in a spasm. He wreathed in pain, coughing blood and bile. She waited as he gained control of himself and nodded to him when his eyes found hers once again. She was listening.

He signaled for her to come closer with a gesture of his hand. When she leaned over him, he grabbed the collar of her shirt and pulled her so that her face was within inches of his own. She did not have the reflexes to react, and her only response was to widen her eyes. She hadn't even seen him move.

He sputtered and instead of speech, blood, phlegm, and spittle sprayed against her cheek. She cringed but otherwise didn't move. Eyes on his, she could only watch as he took his free hand and brought it to her face. Uncertain, her eyes flicked to his fingers briefly. Tentatively, almost tenderly, he touched the corner of her eye, then dropped his hand to touch the electronic device attached to his own eye, opposite hers.

Her eyebrows pinched in confusion. He repeated the gesture, but this time when his fingers returned to the implement, he attempted to remove it. Understanding his intent, she gently brought her hands to the piece of equipment and removed it from his face.

Nodding he allowed her to take it. Not knowing what to do with it or how to make it work, she brought it to her lap and looked to him simply to see if there was more he wanted of her. When he was certain he had her attention again, he opened his mouth. Guttural, inhuman sounds came out, and it took her a few moments to understand that the sounds were likely words of a language, and not the sounds of an animal. Confusion crumpled her features, but when she tried to move away, he grabbed her wrist until the bones within ground against each other.

Tears that wouldn't come before threatened to spill as pain exploded above and below her wrist. Not wishing to cry out, she clenched her jaw and tried to pull away. He was done speaking, but still he would not release her.

"What do you want?" She wailed. "I have your electric thing, but I don't know what to do with it! If you wanted me to do something with it now, I can't!" Words seized on her lips, her short desperate, rush depleted. She was running out of adrenaline and quickly succumbing to exhaustion. All she wanted was to get away. Why had she come down here, anyway?

A male voice called her name from the rubble somewhere unseen above the rim of the crater. "Bulma! Where are you? I can't see you through all the smoke!"

She turned her head towards the sound. "Here!" She tried to shift her weight, but the alien still clung to her. She was tired and weak, and dimness was filling her vision now as well as her mind. "I'm here…" she whispered.

When the alien pulled her towards him, she didn't have the strength to resist and collapsed against his chest. She tried to push herself away, but only succeeded in shifting her weight so that her head came to rest just above his sucking lung wound. Her eyes fell to look at her fingers laying across his stomach, still wrapped around the electronic gadget. He wrapped his large hand around hers and lifted it so that the device was in front of her eyes. Again he spoke, his voice thick with mucus and blood. As he did so, he pressed her fingers against the side of the contraption. It came to life and as he spoke, foreign letters appeared and scrolled over the glass of the eyepiece.

She sucked in a breath. Pressing the button again and again, she only stopped when she recognized a pattern of numbers. The dark alien below her, his face ashen, let go of her hand and nodded. Suddenly, he seized as another fit of coughing overtook him. She found the strength to back away but could not look away as he took his last breaths.

Distantly, she noticed hands pulling her up and away. She thought she heard muffled voices, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. All she knew was, even as she was being carried away, she could see nothing but the alien staring back at her with lifeless eyes, promising death and darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you still messing with that thing?" Said a soft voice as two, strong arms wrapped around her. She scowled and wriggled out of his grasp, but didn't turn to meet his eyes.

"The answer is here, Yamcha. I know it is." Her voice was soft and flat, as though someone far away were speaking through her lips.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Frowning, he looked over her shoulder. After a few minutes, he sighed again. "It's been months, Bulma. If you haven't figured that thing out by now, there's nothing to figure out."

When she didn't respond, he shook his head. Still, he waited. After a few more minutes, he turned and walked towards the door. Just before walking out of it, he turned his head towards her. "Life is waiting for you outside this lab, Bulma. _I'm_ waiting for you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

When she didn't answer, he threw his arms up and left her.

Silence. Stillness. And suddenly, hours later, a mental click.

"He was trying to tell me something. It was worth his life and he wanted me to know what it was. I just have to see what I'm not seeing," she said to the empty air. When nothing but the quiet answered her, she turned her head to scan the room. Frowning, she shrugged and focused again on the device. In recent weeks, when she bothered to speak at all, she didn't know if she was talking to herself or someone else.

In a sudden wave of exasperation, anger, and self-pity, she threw the enigmatic piece of equipment on the desk and thrust her fingers in her hair. Tears burned against her eyelids and she shook with the effort to contain her emotion. Screaming her bitterness and defeat, her voice became hoarse. "What the fuck am I missing? WHAT?"

Pacing, she went over again the moments just prior to the alien's death. She had pressed a few buttons and had seen a numerical pattern. That seemed to please him; as though at that moment, she were already close to solving the puzzle between his language and hers. She _knew_ it was about language. Before Piccalo had erupted in a firestorm of energy and thrust it out in a concentrated attack, he had spoken to them in English. But if English were known to him, why at the moment of his death could he not tell her – whatever he had so desperately wanted her to know? It had to be because he couldn't actually speak English. Which meant this thing had somehow done it for him. Why he had to wait until the thing malfunctioned to say anything important was infuriating.

He had said nothing useful when he first confronted Goku. He had given little away that could be useful or used. He had only said that he was called Radditz, and came from a warrior race; a race that included Goku. She came to an abrupt stop.

_Goku is an alien_. She laughed at herself, still surprised by what should have been obvious from the first time her eyes beheld the weird little runt. _Not so little, anymore_...

Pacing again, she let her mind wander. _Saiyans. They are Saiyans. And all of them are warriors._

Blowing her bangs out of her face, she scrunched her eyebrows. He never explained why he was there. He had tried desperately to goad Goku into following him. When that hadn't worked, he had snatched Gohan and ran towards his ship. To… what? Kidnap the son to force the father to fight? Or kidnap the son to entice the father to follow? Maybe take them both to – go home? Join a cause? Sing Christmas carols?

She shook her head. That was the blaring hole that she couldn't fill. Everything make sense, but only up to _why he was really there_. Everything had been flowing in a specific direction until the attack. At first, he had seemed so desperately relieved to have found Goku. Again and again his only words implored Earth's greatest fighter to join him; become the warrior he was meant to be. That implied Goku was a warrior who wasn't fulfilling a specific purpose as a warrior. _Was finding Goku and revealing that purpose the reason the alien had come?_

It seemed it was, but that was before all the madness. Before her friends conspired to neutralize the threat. Until they attacked, Radditz had ignored all but Goku. How shocked he had been to discover there existed other warriors on Earth.

She frowned. He had seemed limitless in his power, but he hadn't really _used _that strength. Right before he was hit with the blast that killed him, it had seemed as though he were toying with her friends. Or maybe…. testing them. But why? To make them reveal their strength?

She sucked in a breath and held it briefly before letting it whoosh out. _Saiyins are warriors. Who knows what their motivations are. If Goku is any indication, food and fighting and nothing more. _She winced in sympathy. _But if ChiChi has her way, Gohan will be more scholar than warrior…_

She put her back to the wall and slid down to the floor. Closing her eyes, she let herself drift. _Too bad Radditz wasn't a scholar. He could have told me how the hell the 'math, the universal language' can actually function as a real fucking language. _

She wasn't sure how long she sat there. Perhaps she was resting her eyes. Maybe she had drifted to sleep. Either way, her eyes popped open. "They're warriors. Not scholars," she whispered. Shaking, she shot off the floor and ran to the alien device. "Just like words are not numbers! Complete opposites!"

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, creating a virtual intelligence that could dance between forms and figures using abstract, intuitive randomness rather than calculated patterns and applied mathematical extrapolations. Beings were not machines. Languages are full of words, and meanings are not precise as they are in numbers. Interpretation is applied, not finite. Children learn to speak in a leap of spontaneous genius. They don't really learn, they just one day… _know_. The rest of their lives are spent learning new words, but the basis of language was there.

Hours later, eyes bloodshot and raw, she hit enter for the last time. Suddenly as terrified as she was excited, she raised the contraption to her face and looked through the glass. Slowly, she hit the button.

An alien language, guttural and animalistic filled the room. She hit the button again and the words…. Changed.

"…_They_ come for you. To enslave. To destroy. To kill… _He_ comes as I came…you will know him…Watch for him…"

She dropped the device and was running out the door before it fell to the floor. They had been wrong about him.. so wrong. And now she didn't know how long they had.


	3. Chapter 3

She was met with utter and complete silence. It was an uncomfortable silence, thrust upon her with such unexpected finality, it felt as though she had been slapped in the face. Standing before her friends, her wide eyes searched their faces. One by one, each in his turn, they averted their gaze and refused to look at her. The betrayal was sudden and fierce, but evaporated in a puff of smoke, more suddenly than it had come. What had she expected?

"So none of you will even entertain the idea that Radditz was here to warn us? That he was trying to find allies against something that would –" she sputtered, searching for words that could convey the depth of her barely contained desperation. Words of any kind wouldn't matter. Though no one had ever said it out loud, she knew that everyone believed her mind had been telepathically violated when the strange alien's thoughts had infiltrated her own.

She clenched her eyes shut tightly as a wave of dizziness overcame her. She couldn't blame anyone for doubting her. In their position, even she would doubt. For days after the attack that killed the alien - and almost Goku along with him – she had been unreachable to anyone. Lost within the landscape of a foreign mind had invaded her own, she hadn't been aware of anything but terror, darkness, and a violent certainty that death was coming for them all.

After weeks of sudden cold sweats and a paranoia that would crash over her without warning, leaving her petrified and inconsolable, she had finally surrendered to medication. Though her panic attacks hadn't stopped, she could manage them well enough to keep them mostly hidden. Sleep was still fitful and plagued with nightmares, and she still screamed into her pillow most nights, but her determination to appear improved forced her to take more interest in what was going on around her. She ignored the hallucinations of alabaster lizard men laughing at her, and pretended not to see the scenes that flashed in front of her eyes, visions of her friends with their throats torn out superimposed over the faces of her real friends, who were alive and well.

Instead, she tried to focus and see beyond their missing limbs, sightless eyes, and steaming entrails as they tried to speak to her. It had become a game to her; to see the most horrible things but respond to life normally, as though the terrors that flooded her vision weren't there. A good day was when no one noticed a suppressed body flinch or see fear flash on her face before she could quickly twist it into a smile.

She had been having so many good days recently. But they still doubted. They were still afraid. Of her.

And they should be.

What scared her the most, and what she kept hidden with ardent desperation, was that when she awoke to her own horrified shrieking, she was screaming in languages not known to Earth, and it was she who gleefully tore at their throats with bloodied hands and swallowed their fear and flesh with sharp teeth.

She sighed and tried to appear objective, assertive, and in control. Like she used to be. "He – the alien. I mean, you saw how powerful he was. He was toying with all of you."

She had their attention, but she wasn't sure if it was to humor her or if she was striking a chord. They had known Radditz could easily defeat them, but he hadn't. In fact, he hadn't even tried. Instead, he goaded them in to unleashing more and more powerful attacks, knowing that he was the target. Radditz was more powerful than they, but even he would know fighting against four at once could more than even the odds. Why would he do that? For the joy of battle? Possible. Probable, even, if one were to compare his Saiyan battle lust with Goku's. But…..

What if he had held back for a different reason? They had all heard the translation of his words. How could they not see reason?

She fought another wave of nausea, knowing that she was close to her goal. If she could just make them listen. "He said, 'They come for you. To enslave. To destroy. To kill.' I'm sure we all agree that someone is coming to Earth, and they aren't friendly." Her breathing was becoming labored. She couldn't remember the last time she had spoken so many words all at once. The concentration it took to focus her thoughts were draining her.

"But then he said, 'He comes as I came.. Watch for him..' If Radditz came to warn us, possibly look for warriors and allies, it's possible there's someone he wants us to look for when the attack comes; a friend hiding amidst the enemy. Someon-"

"Enough!"

Bulma nearly jumped out of her skin from the unexpected outburst. Everyone's eyes turned to Yamcha. He was breathing heavily out of his nose, his nostrils flaring, his hands in fists at his sides. "Enough of this, Bulma," he seethed. "We all heard the translation. That bastard was probably sent as a forward scout, testing our limits and sizing us up. He came here and attacked us, and everyone following him will do the same! Whoever he was talking about isn't anyone special; there are no hidden allies. We're on our own. He was just fucking with you, Bulma. When whoever 'they' is finally come, the guy to look for will be the biggest, meanest, cruelest asshole of them all. The only thing Radditz did was tell you that you'd know the fucker when you saw him because he'd be the dickhead leading the charge!"

The room tensed, expecting the fall out of her wrath. Instead, as if resisting the unwanted inevitable, the room fell into stillness so unwavering, Bulma felt time settle on her shoulders. She realized after a few frozen moments that she was too late. She hadn't responded as she should have. It hadn't even occurred to her, and now everyone was staring at her.

Even as her eyes filled with tears, she tried to pass off a bark of laughter as a cough. When Goku blinked at her, his expression one of concern and confusion, she couldn't hold it in. Trying to gulp in air as the air tried to escape her in a peel of nervous snickering, she choked. The struggle to breathe and the ridiculous noises that came with it made everything worse, and she could no longer stop herself from giggling. At the sound of her own hollow mirth, she broke out into hysteric laughter, even as her tears fell.

If she had felt her carefully constructed façade had been fooling anyone, she now admitted that she had only been fooling herself. Clearly, she was still suffering from the ghostly residue of a dead but lingering alien mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Bulma shot out of bed, her body already humming with the ugliness of fight or flight before she even realized she had been sleeping. Blinking, her eyes darted across the room, not really looking for anything specific. It had been months since her last nightmare. She thought she had finally started a real recovery.

The noise came again, familiar only because of the very nightmares she had tried so hard to forget.

But this was real. They had finally come.

She was moving before conscious thought could override instinct. She had prepared for this; constructed sturdy, coded capsules full of gear, water purifiers, rations, and equipment - and hung them like charms from a dainty bracelet worn on her wrist. She had thought about stashing supplies in capsules hidden in various places around the city, but she fretted about access and availability. She could stash millions of capsules all over the planet, but even three inches short of any one of those hidden caches would end with the same result: unable to reach it. So, she had come up with the perfect, stylish solution. She simply wore her survivalist paranoia on her wrist.

As she was running past a window that stretched the length of the wall, a flash of light pierced the darkness of the hallway, searing her pupils so that white dots danced behind her eyelids. The light was followed by a sizzling heat that instantly made her skin burn. Thunder so loud the window exploded in a storm of glass shards that twinkled like diamonds crashed over the house, making it shudder. Even as the glass sliced her skin, she couldn't help but stare in wonder as she was blanketed in soft, crystalline, glass powder that looked like snow. The sour taste of bile rose in her throat as she realized that the magical snow drifting in flurries around her was actually mixed with the ash left over from charred bones and dehydrated flesh.

As Capsule Corps groaned around her, she came to her senses and once again ran through the crumbling corridor. Dodging chunks of collapsing mortar and steel, she squealed in shock as she suddenly fell through the flooring as one segment shot upwards while another heaved downwards.

Stunned by her fall and numb with shock, she stumbled aimlessly over the broken building. She couldn't see through the haze of fire and smoke, and her throat and lungs burned with the effort of breathing it. Weary and confused, she sat amongst the ruin and waited for – she didn't know, but somewhere deep inside, her animal brain thundered to life. She may not remember all the details of what and why, but she did understand that she was supposed to hide and wait.

Just then, someone seized her upper arm and pulled her away just as a section of flooring above her head started to collapse around her. Blind instinct made her twist in the vice-like grip and lash out; fists pounded and nails scratched. The hand holding her let go and she fell to the ground at the sudden loss of counter-weight.

Looking up, she saw the blurry outline of – Yamcha? He was yelling at her and rubbing at a bloody scratch on his neck. Dumbfounded, she glanced down at her fingers and saw they were crusted with fresh blood and torn skin. She stared at her hands with wide eyes, realizing that if she were honest, deep down in the dungeon of her subconscious, she must have known it was Yamcha - but had attacked and successfully _injured_ him, anyway.

She swallowed the resentment for him that had been seething under the surface for the past eight months. His bitter, judgmental looks, complete lack of support, and an insistence that she forget everything she knew and felt so she could concentrate on what he wanted from her. He was… obsessively jealous of an electronic device. Despite the warning of impending invasion, he'd tried to destroy the thing several times, claiming it was for her own good.

She closed her eyes and sighed. Now was not the time. They would talk - whether she wanted to or not. For now, she had to trust him. She looked up at him with wide, staring eyes, and blankly watched him as he paced in front of her, yelling in her general direction.

As he stood before her, ranting, the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. She trusted him. No matter how angry she was at him, no matter how misguided his actions. He did what he thought best for her, even if what he thought best infuriated her. She would always trust him.

When she didn't react beyond staring at him dumbly, Yamcha shut his mouth and peered at her. His face shifted from anger to exasperation, and he held out his hand for her to take. She took it and allowed him to help her stand. When he cupped her face with both hands and leaned forward, her eyebrows pinched in confusion. His lips were moving, and it looked like he was shouting, but he sounded so far away..

"Bulma! Bulma, your ears are bleeding! I think your eardrums have burst! Once you clear out the blood, your hearing will come back - but you'll probably hear ringing for a few days!"

She nodded that she understood and only now realized that after the initial blast, she hadn't heard the building imploding around her. She looked down at herself, wondering if there were any other unnoticed injuries. Unsurprisingly, she found the language-translating device clutched in her hand and distantly wondered if she had fallen asleep while tinkering with it, or if she had somehow grabbed it without noticing during her frantic escape. Shrugging, she assessed the rest of herself. Aside from being shoeless and wearing nothing but a tank top and underwear, she was serviceable. All cuts and bruises were superficial. They'd sting later, but for now, it was as if they didn't exist.

When Yamcha yanked on her hand, she was propelled forward and was forced to follow after him. Sticking her pinkie finger in her ear, she tried to clear the passage to improve her hearing. When sounds graduated from sounding like they were ten feet underwater to sounding like they were coming from outside a closed window, she let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

"Yamcha, where are we going?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her but didn't slow his pace. "We need to get out of the city – the closest meeting place is halfway between here and Goku's." He looked over his shoulder again, and his eyes flicked downwards briefly before he snorted. "You remember that stupid alien toy, but God forbid you remember some damn pants."

She wanted to tell him that she had pants in her survival bracelet, but they were out in the open, the capsules made a loud noise when activated, and the contents were vast and packaged in such a way that finding and unpacking clothes would take time. She frowned. Even if she did stop to pilfer through her belongings, she had a feeling he was so focused on dragging her out of the line of fire, she'd be forced to leave the contents of the capsule behind, no matter what life-saving equipment was in it. She flung her stringy hair out of her face and concentrated on running barefoot at a pace that was way too fast for her, even if it was way too slow for Yamcha. She barely had time to notice what the treacherous ground was doing to her naked feet. _But_, she promised herself, _once we're all safe, I'll not only get some 'damned pants,' I'll show them all that the 'stupid alien toy' isn't the only thing I've been playing with._

She grinned ferally. Once they reached the safe house, they'd certainly have everything they needed! She had been busy this past almost-year, building up technology with just as much fervor as her friends had shown as they built up their strength.

As they moved further towards the outskirts of the city, the scenery became more and more horrific. Too many times to count, they had to backtrack to avoid hunting parties, damaged areas that were impassable, or groups of terrified people that who would attract attention. At one point, Yamcha found a body of a woman that wasn't too badly singed. Bulma only understood what he was doing when seconds later he had quickly torn off the summer dress and flung it at her. She cringed, but flipped it on over her head.

A few miles later, she found a pair of boots. One boot had been in the middle of a broken street, a bloody foot still inside of it. The other boot she found next to a melted iced latte on the hood of a jeep - like someone had put them there while they were unlocking the door to the car.

After that, her mind retreated and she allowed herself to drift after Yamcha, hour after hour, as though she were sleep-walking. Every so often, she would trip on debris or would have to launch herself behind the closest cover in whatever direction that lay. She knew better than to believe them lucky. They should have been caught more times than she could count. Yamcha was the only reason they remained undetected - his ability to sense ki was a flawless life saver. Several times, without warning, he'd pull her this way or that way, shove her down, or stop and wait for something unseen to pass. Then, without a word, he would start moving and she would follow.

She didn't know how long it had been since the start of the attack, but her feet were blistered and bloody inside her boots, her skin throbbed from the flash burn, and her knees were badly skinned under the torn hem of the dress. There was road rash on her right hip from when she had fallen into a sink hole as it had opened up right under her. She wasn't sure because she couldn't see it, but she thought she had a cut on her scalp from the shrapnel of an explosion. When she reached to touch the tender spot, her fingers came away wet with blood.

All in all, she was weary, but oddly ok. _This is familiar_, she mused. Her fear wasn't as sharp or debilitating as it had been in her nightmares. Or when Radditz had entered her mind. Perhaps fear in its truest, most pure form could only exist once in a lifetime.

_Like virginity_, she thought.

She snorted at herself, but shrugged a moment later as she reconsidered. _Well, one can have sex a million times, but it's never like it was the first time. I guess fear can exist like that.. Demanding all your attention at first but after a while, as you get so used to it, it's no big deal in comparison._ She blinked at herself and forced her thoughts to still. _Focus, Bulma. You may not think you're afraid, but you're not thinking straight, either. I mean…. Sex? Good God. _

She peered around the corner and started counting. When she reached one hundred, she bolted from the shadows into the open street. Yamcha was getting more and more anxious. She didn't know if he was looking for someone or if he was getting impatient to get out of the city. Either way, he moved faster than she so she let him go ahead. At first, he insisted on no more than one pace separate them. Then he had started to leave her in a safe place and move ahead to scout, and return to her minutes later. To save time, she had started her own pattern of movement; when he moved a few blocks ahead of her, she would count to one hundred and start to follow. When he doubled back, she would meet him half way from where they had started. She had expected him to protest and tell her to wait for him to come for her, but he hadn't. She was surprised. It left her alone in the open and out of reach for long stretches of time. She reasoned it was worth the risk because it allowed them to move much more quickly. And she was very careful.

She hid behind a car, tipped on its side, and started her count. A cascade of explosions detonated somewhere down the block and the ground surged under her feet. Thrown from her hiding place, she darted blindly into an alley and collapsed under a pile of discarded cardboard boxes. Her heart raced painfully in her rib cage, but when the boogey man didn't reach out of the shadows to grab her, she calmed enough to imagine what she must have looked like during her mad dash to the nearest mountain of garbage. She swallowed a snort. Her fear spiked now and then, but mostly – mostly it was an echo of what she thought real fear should be.

_Or maybe an alien inoculated me against most fears by showing me what true fear really looks like. _She huffed bitterly and stiffened when her imagination made the sound bounce down the alley off of brick and concrete walls. She knew the sound was too quiet for anyone to have noticed, but she also knew she couldn't use her own currently damaged hearing as a basis of comparison. It wasn't just humans out there, anymore.

She chewed her lips, torn between waiting and bolting. She had been here longer than a count to 100. If there were hostile aliens around the corner, she knew she was no match. She had to get to Yamcha.

She decided to make a run for it.

As she started to rise, an icy shard hammered a painful chill up her spine, robbing her of both strength and breath. Instead of crawling out of her hiding place, she found herself cowering further within it.

Boots. Armored boots that weren't there moments ago, attached to legs that stalked forward slowly and silently. And a.. a tail? Swishing behind those boots in lazy, purposeful arcs. And then the boots stopped moving, just inches from where she lay. So close where they, she had the asinine urge to reach out her hand and touch them.

She curled her fingers into tight fists so the temptation would go away.


	5. Chapter 5

Laughter from somewhere unseen to her right.

It was so like the hollow mockery she had heard chasing her in many of her dreams. But when the being belonging to that laughter spoke, she had to endure a painful wave of goose bumps and press her tongue to the roof of her mouth to swallow her gag reflex. It sounded like he was speaking out of a throat coated in mucus.

Inspiration borne of desperation grabbed her attention. The device was still in her hands, and it could translate. Once she had decoded the basis of how it worked, she had easily been able to program the thing to learn new language patterns after a few minutes of exposure. It was far from perfect, but once it knew a language, it could translate it to any other language it had stored. It could even decipher the difference between colloquial language, slang, and words that had more than one meaning. Whereas before it could translate a single language into one other language at a time, now the thing could translate dozens of languages into dozens of other languages simultaneously. It could store everything that was said to be replayed later, and even distinguish and recognize voice patterns and differentiate accents.

And what she was most proud of – even if it couldn't annotate the written words of languages unless it knew the alphabet of that language, it would translate and display the written characters of languages it did know. Its spelling left something to be desired, but when all you had was phonetic sounds, it was really quite brilliant. If someone spoke, the device would translate the meaning of the words and display words as they sounded; 'come here' would be displayed as, 'kum heer.'

There were many languages and alphabets programmed into the thing, already. Maybe the language Mr Mucus was speaking was pre-programmed. Pressing one of the side buttons, the device blinked to life. She nearly wet herself when it beeped, praying to every God she could think of in a wild plea that "Boots" hadn't heard it. The boots didn't make any move towards her, but she squeezed her eyes tightly and willed the frost in her heart to thaw. She had a sick feeling whoever was wearing those boots had heard the beep.

She couldn't think of that now. It was out of her control.

But she could control herself. She needed information. So when the laughing one – Cackle, she decided to call him - spoke again, she greedily read the words on the glass eyepiece, clutched inches from her nose in shaking fingers. After so much practice reading phonetically spelled English, she didn't notice the odd misspellings or the periodic out of place word.

"…Did you not hear my question, Monkey? What are you doing so far away from your cage?"

Bulma heard a low, menacing growl from Boots, and was amazed as the sound physically prickled every nerve in her body and made the hairs on her arms stand straight up. But when he _spoke_, her liver nearly exploded with the sudden rush of boiling blood flooding to her internal organs. Never before now had she truly understood how physical and visceral fear could be. The sensation was terrifying.

But as she lay, hiding from an inevitable death, fear became pointless – so it fell away. In its wake, something even more terrifying filled the void left behind. Her body hummed, more alive than it had ever been. It was… thrilling.

Realizing she hadn't been paying attention to the view screen, she looked down to see what Boots had said. "Stretching my legs. And who is to stop me? Certainly not you.."

"There is no one to stop _me_, you mean. I've always hated you, so I intend to take advantage," Cackle said in a rheumy voice. Bulma could practically feel his slimy tongue trailing a path of phlegm over wormy lips.

But then it was Boot's turn to respond. If she had thought his voice was thrilling, his laughter seared her synapses. _Who __**is**__ he..? _ It made no logical sense that the sounds of vibrating vocal chords could have that much of an effect. Her eyes glazed and her thoughts turned inwards, as if searching for… and there is was.

Ice filled her veins. A strange, alien presence flickered like undulating flames on the edge of her consciousness, licking at her defenses almost sensually – softly seducing the barrier between her mind and his –telling her to trust, to submit. It was not unlike her experience with Radditz, whose thoughts - more like images and impressions - were purposely focused and targeted her specifically. But this… this was different. Like a wide spectrum broadcast, low and unnoticeable, it snuck through mental resistance with such languid tranquility, conscious control was not needed. It bided its time, stalking its prey, until it touched upon a hidden weakness in the enemy mind – then awoke to full fury and wrought havoc. It was so casual, Bulma wasn't sure if it was even done on purpose. She suspected this alien – this _Saiyan_ – was so practiced and precise with his telepathy that he wielded it as a weapon without notice.

Her breath caught in her throat. Radditz had purposefully set out to violate her mind, fill her with fear. The breach had lasted moments before she had closed herself to his influence. Yet, she knew she had allowed his mind to touch her own. She had unfolded the foreign consciousness, curious to see what it held. But this Saiyan's mental discipline was phenomenal. What could he do? Whatever it was, would she be forced to welcome it? Or would she be so drunk on sensations she would willingly open her mind and beg for his entry?

Suddenly afraid again, but this time for entirely different reasons, Bulma's hands trembled on the device. Despite her anxiousness, she couldn't help but wish to know what they were saying. She bit her lip to keep it from quivering, and blinked the tears from her eyes.

'Boots' was quickly renamed to the more fitting 'Purr,' when the creature's laughing tapered off to a sound that could be compared to nothing else. She resisted the sudden rush of warmth throughout her body, and fortified her mental defenses. She didn't like to be told how to react, even if it was a subconscious demand from a delusional alien who didn't even know she was there. _Probably doesn't know I'm here_, she amended. She scowled at the device, still incensed that it had beeped so loudly.

"Come, Dodoria then. As you will; but know that killing you would hardly take more effort than killing one of the locals. But I admit, it will be much, much more fun." As he spoke, the boots filling her vision shifted with the weight of the one wearing them. He was crouching now; Bulma knew from watching her fighter friends that he was positioned at the ready, likely preparing to launch an attack.

And, so fast she couldn't follow, the boots were gone.

Once they were out of the line of her sight, she was tempted to run. She thought better of it; she could still hear them somewhere flying above her. She covered her ears as sonic boom after sonic boom assaulted her senses. She just wanted it to end. With one of them dead, and the other possibly injured, she maybe had a chance to sneak away unnoticed. She just had to wait until the fight was over.

Suddenly, there was silence.

Her heart hammered in her chest with such force, her whole body pulsed with every beat. She wasn't sure if the sound drowned out everything else or if it truly was a quiet that was so heavy, it was suffocating. Was it over? Where they gone?

She counted to one thousand, and then counted again. When nothing happened, she made the decision to crawl out. She shifted her weight off of her legs, painful with pricks and needles from loss of blood flow. Being stuck, unmoving, in a single position for – however long it had been – did little more than make it difficult to move.

But the precise moment she did move, boxes exploded around her.

Like a cat hunting a mouse, one of them had been waiting for her to move. And she had fallen into the trap.


	6. Chapter 6

One second she was laying hidden, quietly waiting for an opportunity to escape, and the next second she was sprawled out on the filth-stained gravel, her body wrapped around itself in a tight ball, her arms protecting her head. Cardboard boxes full of left over refuse - disposed of by the take out Chinese restaurant attached to the alleyway - flew in every direction. Utterly exposed, she waited for the gauntlet to fall. At first, she couldn't to move – as if her refusal to acknowledge the danger she knew was there would be defense enough to make the danger go away. Like a child hiding under the bed covers; if you couldn't see the monsters, the monsters couldn't see you. The sound of her own harsh breathing and the feel of blood pulsing with wild strength became her only focus.

Bulma stayed like this until something nudged her face. She flinched with such violence she suddenly found her back pressed up against the broken bricks of the wall behind her. Instantly, her eyes flew open and darted to the first object she could see. A single, armored boot.

The boot that had poked her in the face was now toying with the translating device. Without thought, she released a breathy squeak and darted to retrieve it. The stupid thing likely got her caught when it beeped, so why she was so protective of it, she didn't know. But once it was safely in her grasp and she had checked to ensure it was undamaged, she felt better. Yet, now she had nothing left to distract her. The bed covers had been torn away and she couldn't pretend she hadn't been seen. Her device was safely in her possession. The time had come.

She took a deep breath and slowly her eyes moved upwards.

She knew he was a Saiyan, but she only had Radditz and Goku as a basis of comparison. Had she not known the three were a part of the same race, she would not have believed this being could have anything in common with the other two. He was dark and menacing and held himself with certainty and confidence. The aura of complete malevolence – so pure it was almost beautiful in its perfection – was made complete by the predator-like metal helmet and mask he wore that hid his features. Somehow, being unable to see his face made him more terrifying; though she knew he was humanoid, the mask allowed her imagination to manifest her worst fears.

She blinked in surprise when he reached to disconnect tubing that joined the mask to his body armor. One tube hissed, followed by another, as they were released. He then reached with gloved hands, and with deliberate slowness, removed the mask and tossed it away. She watched it as it fell in slow motion, rolled a bit, and then came to rest in a puddle of sewage water near her feet.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, he crouched before her. His face was so close to her own, she could feel his breaths against her cheek. Still, she couldn't look at him. She didn't want to provoke him unintentionally, and she was sure he would consider eye to eye contact provocation.

He spoke then, his voice flat and low as it reverberated against the walls of her ears. She didn't understand the words, but she knew his meaning. Especially when he grabbed the device from her hands and placed it over his ear. _This device didn't belong to her. What was she doing with it?_

She didn't know if she wanted him to bat her hand away to save her from having to communicate. But.. Tentatively, she reached her fingers towards the device and indicated that she wished to touch it. When he didn't back away, she pressed the button, instructing the contraption to translate out loud. When it beeped, she flinched and snatched her hand away. He cocked his head at her reaction, as if amused by her fear of a simple beep. She steeled herself. She had decided to communicate, and for now, he was showing an inclination to do the same. She took a deep breath and tried to speak in a voice devoid of uncertainty. "A Saiyan called Radditz gave it to me."

As she spoke the words, they were translated into the language of his people - audibly and in phonetic written form. She watched his face intently, but the only emotion she saw was so brief, she almost didn't catch it. Surprise? If he hadn't been staring at her before with interest, he certainly peered at her intently, now. He had known from whom she had acquired the device. He wanted to know _how_.

She took in a shaky breath and tried again, "Before he died –"

Her words were choked off as a hand shot out from nowhere and wrapped around her throat. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were full of fire. "He _is_ dead, then."

When his words were translated into English, again the look of surprise came over his face. This time he allowed it to show, "You.. you altered the scouter-"

"So that's what it's called!" she practically hollered in his face. When he frowned, she realized it probably wasn't the smartest thing in the world to interrupt someone who needed a reason _not_ to kill her. Hastily, and with her blood sizzling with anxiety, she tried to find that reason. At least, she hoped that's what she was doing instead of annoying him with her nervous babbling.

"I think Radditz came here looking for Goku, who is also, surprisingly, a Saiyan. But you probably knew that. After all, one came looking for the other. Um. Well. They started fighting," she furrowed her brows as she thought out loud. "- but if I didn't know any better, I'd have thought they were undergoing the Saiyan version of saying hi, like when dogs sniff –" she caught herself and changed what she had been about to say. "Um – like they weren't really serious. Just.. testing each other's strength." She paused and panted lightly, looking at the alien before her. When he continued to stare at her stonily, she forced herself to continue.

"B-but then everyone attacked all at once. They wounded him, but before he died–"

Her words were choked in her throat when he squeezed his hand. "Who killed him?"

Then the pressure on her voice box was lifted, presumably so she could speak again. "My friends. They are warriors, like Goku, but not as strong. But they can control ki –"

Again her voice was cut off. If it hadn't been, she'd have barked out her frustration at the continual interruptions. It was foolish of her, but she couldn't help it. She would get to what he wanted to know if he just let her finish! But, maybe it was for the better that she literally couldn't make a sound. Hopefully he didn't notice that her eyes had narrowed in a brief flash of annoyance.

He didn't speak; instead he looked away and appeared to be deep in thought. No longer the object of scrutiny by those fiercely penetrating eyes, she was able to study them. There was no discernible difference in color between his pupils and irises, which made it hard to tell where he was looking – or, more likely, hid that he was looking everywhere at once. His irises were much larger than that of a human, and barely any of the bluish-white sclera showed at all. There was a silvery light-reflective sheen that likely allowed him to see in near total darkness; it gave a depth to his eyes, making them shimmer in the low light of alleyway and gave the impression that his eyes were lit from within.

They were – beautiful. Dangerous and mysterious- very alien and very terrifying.

When he suddenly flicked his gaze back to her face, she quickly looked away. Had he known she was staring at him?

He brought his face to within an inch of hers and examined her, as if this was the first time he had actually seen her and he was weighing her worth. It seemed as though minutes ticked by, and still he did nothing but stare at her raptly.

And then she felt it. The tendrils of an alien consciousness touching her own. She did nothing as his mind pierced its way through defenses she hadn't raised to protect herself. Her body convulsed as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. The pain was blinding, and she was distantly aware that her nose had started to bleed. But she didn't fight him. She wanted him to know—

Images of what had happened the day Radditz had arrived rippled past her awareness. It was like everything she had seen, experienced, even _felt_ over the past year was being fully relived within a matter of moments.

And then just as suddenly, the invasion ended. Her eyes fluttered open and her head rolled. The Saiyan pulled away from her, as though trying to put distance between them. Distantly, she was satisfied by this. Hopefully the bastard had felt her revulsion when Radditz had raped her mind. It was rude to break in to people's thoughts and leave them a jumbled mess. At least this time there wasn't any creepy alien residue lurking in the hidden corners of her mind, waiting for a chance to plague her with nightmares.

And now he knew everything she knew about Radditz, the scouter, and her theory on Radditz's purpose on Earth. She felt her stomach roll in anxiety. He also knew about her visions of laughing boogey men, bloody hands, and torn flesh dripping from her lips.

Bulma's head snapped up.

And now _she_ knew that he was the one….

"_You_! Radditz meant that I should watch for _you_! That I would know you -"

His face twisted in a sneer as he backed further away from her. He looked as though he were about to say something, but shook his head as though talking himself out of it. Instead, he peered at her once more and turned his back to her. He stood there a moment before glancing over his shoulder to consider her. He narrowed his eyes briefly, then reached to his face and removed the scouter. Scowling as if he already regretted it, he tossed it in her direction and jumped into the air. Within moments, she could no longer see him.

She stared at the scouter, but didn't move towards it. For long minutes, she reflected on what had just happened. She concluded that he had been hesitant to read her mind because in doing so, he opened his mind to her as well.

She had been right all along. They had been looking for allies.

To defeat the white lizard.


	7. Chapter 7

He had suspected that Radditz had – surprisingly - perished when the older Saiyan had failed to report after several weeks. It had disturbed him only because instead of adding a warrior to his cause, he had lost one.

It baffled him, then, when months later, Radditz's scouter had reactivated. Every Soldier in Freeza's army knew that, upon the moment of their death, their scouter would self-destruct. No matter that each scouter had an activation code triggered by its owner's own DNA. No matter that a scouter would remain in idle mode if not activated, refusing to work unless the proper DNA sequence was provided. The threat of stolen technology was enough to make the ice-jin nervous, and so scouters suffered death when their owners did.

So when he saw that Radditz's scouter was being used, he had believed Radditz may have somehow lived. In which case, why would the Saiyan not contact his Prince?

Vegeta had toyed with the idea that someone had indeed stolen the scouter, but dismissed the notion as improbable. The only way a scouter could be removed and still function is if the Soldier removed it themselves, disabling the genetic code requirement for the thing to work while separated from its owner. Radditz could have done so, but would not have done so under duress – he'd have simply kept the contraption on and let it be destroyed upon his death.

That meant Radditz removed it on purpose, permanently disabled the genetic activation code, and gave it to someone. Handing over technology was a dire sin in Freeza's army. For Radditz to do so must have meant he had either found an ally he could trust – which Vegeta found impossible since the only beings Radditz had trusted included only himself and Nappa – or if he had been desperate. For Radditz to feel desperate, he must have known he was about to die. But then – wouldn't the knowledge of his impending death only solidify his resolve to wear the thing as he died to ensure its destruction?

No. Radditz must have been wearing the scouter when he died. He would not allow the scouter to survive him – not for any feeling of loyalty to Freeza, but rather to protect the secret encrypted communications frequency the Saiyans used.

But then how did the damn thing get reactivated? Unless Radditz was still alive -?

It had been an infuriating, catch-22, contradiction of theories – until he saw the scouter at the feet of a frail human woman and grudgingly read her thoughts to - finally! - solve the puzzle.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; intelligence was a sign of mental focus, and if she had been able to understand and modify scouter technology, she certainly had mental focus. One would have to be brilliant to transform such technology…

Yet he had been surprised when her mind had revealed so much. Most species didn't have the mental discipline for such a focused relay of information. To his utter shock, her focus had been more impressive than he could have imagined. She had not given vague impressions or images. Instead, there had been a torrent of precise memories. He had almost lost himself in the blizzard of emotion – those of Radditz as he had flooded her mind with a desperate need for her to understand who.. _what_.. was coming – as well as her own paltry emotions. But, the depth of her perception was frightening. That she had been able to capture Rattiz's memories and feelings from his perspective was something Vegeta had believed only Saiyans had the ability to do. Her terror was understandable. For a being so adverse to violence - as the little human was - to suddenly experience full Saiyan Blood Lust, - something some Saiyans couldn't master – and still retain a semblance of sanity, was remarkable.

Even if her mind was impressively controlled, able to separate Saiyan from Human, her emotions were a flurry of scattered, unfocused contradictions. He understood the heart of Raddtiz; during his last moments, despite knowing that he was living his last minutes, the Saiyan had felt only rage and regret. When he had seen that the human was not only sensitive to, but _receptive_ to telepathy, he had lashed out and had given her the tools needed to continue the fight in his place. It was a gift, really. To honor someone and entrust them to finish what they could not themselves finish, it was a rare thing even between Saiyans. But to give such a thing to an alien? Preposterous. Unless Radditz had somehow known that Vegeta would find this bizarre little human. And then presume to assume his Prince would initiate a telepathic link. What an asinine idea.. but Bardok had been able to see the future. Had his spawn developed the same talent and was using it to infuriate him? So like Rattidtz. The imbicile. He probably did this on purpose.

Vegeta had spit a wide-spread telepathic curse in every direction he could and hoped that wherever Radditz was, he was able to hear it. He almost snorted when he thought he could hear Radditz guffawing deep in his head.

Vegeta had sighed and resigned himself.

And…when Vegeta had finally touched her mind with his own, she had not reacted as she had when Radditz had used her.

Her reaction had confused him. How could someone be open and curious by the same facilitator that made them feel distress and panic? He hadn't had to fight to access her mind. Maybe she hadn't realized that. He certainly hadn't expected it. He hadn't expected much resistance, true, but not because he thought her incapable. Rather, he thought he would need to focus her thoughts in order to gain intelligible information from her. When he learned that not only could she do so without his help – but that she could resist yet chose _not _to despite the pain it must have caused her, he had pulled back. But not before he had already put more force into invading her thoughts than he had needed.

He shuddered and tried to shake off his musings – likely instigated from the proximity with the human's mind. He had gone in much deeper than intended and it had affected him more than he was comfortable with. Idly, he wondered if he would suffer from human tainted dreams and then grinned. Human nightmares. Ha. What a joke.

His grin faded. Feh. Humans. Better to be Saiyan with Saiyan dreams and Saiyan emotions that were focused and intense. Emotions that made sense and served a purpose rather than linger for no other reason than to make one doubt their own resolve or become so conflicted they were at war with themselves.

All Vegeta needed was rage to inflame his blood. When no such outlet could be found, he supposed he could tolerate his blood lust simmering down to plain lust - the natural result from unresolved anger – if he hadn't been conditioned to loathe the usual means by which he was made to give up his preferred frenzy for the other.

Vegeta sneered. Zarbon had often been used in a game to amuse Freeza and his audiences. Invoking a Saiyan's wrath had been all too easy for Zarbon, and the Saiyans had all had been happy to comply. At first. But Zarbon's species had unique traits that made them a favorite across many species, as well as numerous sexes, as pleasure companions. The creepy green lizard found pleasure in pain. If that weren't enough by itself, he had specialized glands that produced very powerful, agonizing-to-resist sex pheromones. And he loved using it on Saiyans; a race, so Zarbon loved to boast, that had such a naturally powerful libido _anyway_ that it was all too easy to push one from being merely sexually aggressive to one that would wreathe in a blinding, excruciating, _unfulfillable_ desire.

The Saiyans had learned quickly to resist getting angry when Zarbon was near. If they weren't angry, they couldn't be made to feel painfully aroused. Not that they needed to be angry first, but forcing a Saiyan to transition from wrath to arousal was most of the appeal for Zarbon. Refraining from getting angry had helped, but as with any resistance, it had then become a challenge for Zarbon to make it more difficult to resist. Eventually, the game had become less amusing when Zarbon had taken it too far; it was learned at that moment that Vegeta lost control of his Ki when sexually provoked.

Despite his superior strength, Zarbon had been in a regeneration tank for days. If that hadn't been enough of a deterrent for the lizard, Vegeta had simply stopped responding to the pheromone. His body still reacted the same, but somehow, he was able to repel the effects and retain control.

Vegeta's lips pealed back in disgust. It had been several years since that lesson, but Vegeta had never forgotten. Even so, he still believed it better to be angry, aroused, or both than to fade into a worthless, confused haze of scattered emotions.

He pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind when he heard a commotion from below a fog of haze, ash, and smoke. Interested, he banked left and fell through the clouds to investigate.

Landing a block away, he quickly made his way to the sounds, ensuring that he was cloaked in shadows. It was difficult to ignore the stinging in his nose and the burning in his eyes from the smoke. Why had he removed his helmet? Now he was without the built in scouter as well as an easy way to breathe or a way to see through obstacles like this stupid blanket of smog. He rolled his eyes at himself. When he had seen the little female with Rattiz's scouter, he had allowed himself to give in to his curiosity. Who was she that Radditz had trusted her with such a thing? He hadn't been able to see properly with his helmet on; it regulated light waves so that they remained constant. Perpetual day planets with three stars or dark planets with no star at all appeared the same to him. But colors and details were washed out. He didn't think he would miss the helmet. And it was no big thing to leave it behind – the female already had Radditz's scouter. What was one more?

And he had wanted to see her. Why was she so special? Why had Radditz noticed her before he entered her mind?

So, he removed his helmet and looked at her.

Her colors had been... unique... but she was so covered in grime, blood, and soot, that he couldn't get a true impression of her. She was clearly fragile. That was no odd thing; most beings were drastically weak compared to himself. Yet even under the mud he could tell that she was finely made. Somehow she made being delicate not so deplorable. He had found himself responding to her gently, as if breaking her was something to be avoided. It had been a curious sensation. He had allowed it for a moment, just to experience it.

Her most exceptional features though, were those weirdly shaped crystalline-colored eyes. Her irises were small compared to his own, but the depth of expression within them made them seem large and all-seeing. Later, as he debated forming a telepathic link - and only because he was certain she hadn't realized it –he had watched her as she had stared at him. Being able to clearly see her emotions as they flickered on her face had left him feeling bizarrely exposed. Like she could read his heart and was responding to what she saw. And that was _before _the link! But during the link…. she felt too much. So much it made him feel.

_That_ sensation had been entirely distasteful. He had broken the link and backed away before she could infect him with any other human nonsense.

He reminded himself that he was safely inside his own skull again. When nothing popped up or argued, he continued his train of thought. Being able to see her had been a mild curiosity. Mostly, he had wanted to smell her. Saiyan vision was spectacular, but a Saiyan's sense of smell could determine what other beings were feeling. Pheromones couldn't lie. Had something in her scent told Radditz to trust her before he reached out with his mind? He wanted to know.

His brows pinched. And now he did.

He dropped his head and bit off a growl. He hadn't realized it before now, but he could still smell her. He considered the scent. It wasn't compelling him to react in any way, but with the smoke in his nose, it wasn't particularly strong, either. In fact, if he hadn't been focused on it, he may have not even noticed it. Except now that he had, something caught his attention.

When directly in front of her, she had mostly smelled of fear. He was used to this and could easily ignore it. After all, the stench of a terrified female wasn't overly outrageous considering what was currently happening on her planet. But now that he had noticed something different, he couldn't stop noticing. The undertone was… peculiar. Not unpleasant, just…He cocked his head and subconsciously opened his lips to breathe in, allowing the glands on the roof of his mouth to taste her pheromones.

She was not in heat. So why did her scent pull at his attention -?

He blinked. What did her smell – or anyone's smell – matter to him? He wasn't here to dwell on the inhabitants. He was here to find -

His head snapped up and all of his senses narrowed into focus. A crazed, animalistic snarl tore from his throat, past bared and glistening teeth.

Finally, his chance to settle a score.

Zarbon.


	8. Chapter 8

Bulma finished tying the strings at the ankles of her cargo pants and tucked the ends of each leg into her boots. She felt better now that she'd had a chance to brush most of the gunk out of her hair and change into clothes that didn't belong to dead people.

She fingered the capsule bracelet on her wrist. It had become an unconscious habit; it was reassuring to feel everything she could ever possibly need literally at her fingertips. She patted herself down; checking to ensure nothing was left behind. The scouter was safely buried in a cargo pocket.

She turned around to join the others and wasn't surprised to see Yamcha hovering in the doorway. By the time he had found her, she had already made it most of the way to the bunker herself. He had been frantic, but she suspected it was out of a sense of guilt. He had left her. Oh, sure. He had thought her safe. But who was safe? No one.

She didn't even bother to tell anyone what had happened. She was alive; therefore she must not have been discovered. Right? But everyone knew _something_ had happened. The hard, flat look in her eyes and her cold demeanor spoke volumes. Most assumed it was because she had been left behind. Everyone gave her a wide berth, even if they did hover in the background.

She'd like to think it was because they were concerned. She hoped it wasn't because they all thought she'd revert back into the half-crazed creature she had been the months following Radditz's death.

She walked past Yamcha without saying anything. He silently followed her with his gaze, and then quietly followed her out of the room.

When she saw spiky black tufts that stood on end like a lion's mane poking above the heads of all the people crowding around a lone figure, she knew it was Goku. Pushing people out of the way, he turned to her just as she reached him. Wordlessly, they crashed into each other in a tight embrace. For what must have been several minutes, they stayed this way. No one intruded.

When she finally felt like she could speak without wailing like a little girl lost, she shifted and he relaxed his arms so she could break away. He looked down on her, eyes darting here and there searching for injury. She waited patiently until he seemed satisfied. He never could focus well on more than one thing at a time. She smiled softly.

When he looked up, she grinned, "What. You thought I'd miss the party at my own rebel hide-out? Don't tell me you started without me!"

She ignored the flash of doubt and fear that touched his features before he was able to return her grin. "Aw, Bulma. I knew you'd make it. And we wouldn't have started without you," his grin faltered a moment before he laughed sheepishly. "Um. None of us know the code to get to the weapons you made. We sorta had to wait for you."

Bulma stared at him blankly, blinking every so often. When this did little to alter the Saiyan's expression, she sighed and flatly stated, "Goku. What day is your birthday?"

His eyebrows pinched in confusion. "Bulma, you know what day my birth– " His jaw dropped and his mouth fell into an 'O'. Quickly, he smiled at her. "Oh, yeah."

He brushed by her and she followed, ignoring the confused faces of everyone as she passed them. They in turn followed her. They all navigated the underground hallways of the bunker until they reached a dead end. Goku raised his hands and began to brush his fingertips along the concrete. When something beeped under his right ring finger, he focused his attention to that spot, pressing his thumb to the wall. A panel dropped with a numerical pad.

He typed in the date of his birthday, and the wall swung open to reveal a vast room.

Looking over his shoulder at her, he tittered and shrugged, then bent his head down so he wouldn't smack it on the doorframe, and stepped into the room.

She stood aside as everyone fanned out to choose armor and weapons. As they worked to outfit themselves, she spoke in a clipped, business-like voice that sounded well practiced. "These weapons were designed using alien technology. You all know about the Saiyan who came here almost a year ago; he left us a favor in the form of a small space vessel. The energy source for that vessel was the basis for the design of these weapons."

One by one, as people finished arming themselves, they came to stand before her to listen. Nodding to each one as they approached, she continued.

"These weapons fire something that, for a better lack of a word, is like ki. It is not ki, though. It does not get tired, and it does not weaken over time. It does get hot, though. The materials on Earth cannot conduct this heat well enough to mitigate build up over time. So, fire in short bursts," she grinned, eyes gleaming, and continued with her trump card. "But before you get upset over the limitation of Earth materials, consider this: The manner and materials with which these weapons were constructed allows for a continual and contained backloop without any loss of energy."

Krillen raised his hand but began to speak when he caught her attention. "Is that Bulma-ese for these things have no power level limit?"

Bulma smiled at him and he beamed under the attention. Then slowly lowered his hand when he realized it was still up in the air.

"Why, yes, Krillen. If you allow the gun to 'power up' before shooting it, it hits harder. Try not to do that if you don't have to, though. It gets unstable and it may take you out instead of your target."

Within a half hour, everyone was on the streets, shooting the enemy out of the sky. There were surprisingly few of them, she thought. But shrugging, she thought that it made sense. It hadn't taken that many to destroy this much of the city. It was likely the same planet-wide.

She was suddenly very happy she had had the foresight to contact world leaders and provide them with similar weaponry. She had made it clear that the weapons would only activate when one of her own bunkers had been accessed, and that weapons were designed to remain online for twenty-four hours, only. After that, she'd have to input a code and they would reset for another twenty-four hours.

She didn't want to be the cause for a world war, after all. Well, a united world in a war against hostile aliens was ok. But she didn't want to push her luck.

She looked at the device – the scouter – and quickly pressed a few buttons. Programming it for translation had been simple. But she had been correct that its capabilities were much greater. Now, she could discern that weapons across the planet had been activated and were being used.

She smiled widely. It looked like Radditz's warning hadn't been in vain. They were successfully defending Earth. With determination, she walked down the streets that, hours ago, she had been sneaking down and hiding in, fearing for her life. Now, she was leading her own group of defenders. She knew that they'd win the day, but they were far from finished.

This was only the first battle, she was certain, of several in a war to win the right to own Earth. First thing was first, though. They had to win this first battle.

A familiar sound in the distance caught her attention and her head snapped up to search the sky. A few blocks away, buildings shattered and windows exploded as energy blasts incinerated steel and mortar foundations. The ground rumbled with such force, she almost lost her footing, and cars that had survived the first wave of attack started to squeal as their alarms were triggered. A water main must have burst somewhere on the next street over, and water poured down like rain and flooded the roads for a quarter mile in every direction.

Somewhere above her, warriors were fighting.

She didn't know which two - the enemy, certainly, but which one of her friends? She knew that the fight would attract the attention of her remaining Ki-sensing friends, and probably a good number of the enemy, as well. Looking back to her group, she indicated that they should continue to clear their designated sector without her. Then without another word, she followed the sounds and the destruction on a path that she knew would end with someone's death.


	9. Chapter 9

The scene was oddly familiar: The crater of scarred earth, belching smoke and raining ash. Instead of charred soil and seared sand, there were twisted street lights saluting shattered buildings that reached like broken fingers towards the sky, and a flood of sewage water spewing into the air. Still, as she gingerly made her way to the edge of the cracked asphalt, she almost expected to see Radditz bleeding at the bottom.

Instead, in glimpses through the fog and mist, she saw the ruinous remains of what once must have been a person – of sorts. It obviously wasn't human. The Saiyan she had encountered before in the alley hovered over the prone form of the fallen alien, repeatedly striking down on the pulp of what remained of a skull.

Just at that moment, he jolted – halfway between bringing his fists down again – and looked in her direction. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, trying to smother her startled and horrified cry too late.

And then suddenly… in a blur he was gone.

She fell back when an abrupt mass morphed into being directly before her. She would have fallen completely if an iron grip hadn't snatched her wrist from the air to catch her. Instead, she half stood, half hung from his grasp. She could do nothing as he brought her closer to his face, cocking his head to the side. He blinked as he studied her with mild interest, nostrils softly flaring, lips partially open as if tasting the air.

Then, as if speaking to himself, he spit out two harsh sounding words. She flinched but his voice had been without emotion; like he was simply making an observation – likely, "Oh. It's just you."

He held her that way for a few moments, considering her intently as she stared back at him. Slowly, curiosity replaced her fear. He watched the shift of expression on her face with a curiosity of his own. Silently, they stared at and blinked at each other, each waiting to see what the other would do, each wondering to themselves why they did so. They were both on the cusp of speech when he stiffened and looked over his shoulder to peer across the crater.

Unceremoniously, he dropped her and turned to face what had grabbed his attention. Without him holding her up, Bulma crumpled to the ground in a heap. Annoyed at the sudden, harsh landing, Bulma got to her hands and knees and was about to stand and give him a piece of her mind when she looked up. She couldn't see beyond a few feet in front of him, but by the way he stood, peering out into the gloom, she knew he was on full alert.

As his gaze shifted from left to right, scanning the darkness, she suddenly frowned that he had so easily put his back to her as if she were not a threat. Her ki-gun lay where it had fallen when he had grabbed her. As she retrieved it, she chastised herself internally for dropping it instead of using it. Grudgingly, she admitted she wouldn't find herself a threat in his position, either. But as she considered his rigid form, standing on the cusp of destruction as if fearlessly challenging all that was dangerous and unseen, a small voice in the back of her mind told her to be flattered that he had shown her trust at all.

She crushed the thought. This alien trusted no one. He was likely as aware of her, even facing away from her, as he was with everything else. Taking a cue from him, she decided that if anything that could command his attention this completely was out there, it would have to be extremely threatening.

Peering into the gloom that blanketed them like heavy fog, the night somehow made sounds seem muffled and directionless. Though her senses told her nothing, she knew that he somehow knew what was there.

When she heard the well-known, high-pitched sound of an overly charged ki-rifle discharging from somewhere unknown, he crouched and raised his hands as if to block the impending attack. She distantly wondered why he bothered to block the attack if he could simply dodge it. Almost the same instant, she realized she lay directly behind him and flung herself as low to the ground as she could – just in time for the blast to make contact.

The impact of the detonation seared her eyeballs though her face was pressed to the ground and her arms covered her head. The sound was inconceivable; it echoed through her skull, twisted throughout her body, and vibrated in her bones. The Earth shuttered beneath her and just as a wave of heat lit her clothes on fire, a backlash of air snuffed it out.

Everything sizzled and popped with an electrical buzz. In a trance, she slowly pushed and pulled herself to unstable feet. Dazed, she stumbled to the ground before picking herself up again. The world seemed tilted and she kept listing to her right. Landing hard on her sternum, she dragged herself to her hands and knees and dry wretched until her insides felt like they were her outsides. When she thought the world had stopped moving, she lifted her head. She closed an eye so that she could focus on one of the two versions of the scene mere feet in front of her. And her blood froze.

Imbedded into the marble frame of a government building was the alleyway Saiyan. His armor was in ruin, half melted and smoking. His body suit beneath was torn, and barely covered tattered, oozing flesh. On the spider-web cracked walls around the hole his body had made, the marble was charred and flaking. She didn't know how he lived, but he looked more dead than alive as he struggled to dislodge himself without success. His hands kept slipping around the hard edges of the crumbling crater. Bulma noticed it wasn't for lack of strength in his hands; with every failure to pull himself out, chunks of stone turned to pebbles and dust in his squeezing fingers and fell to the ground. Every time his hands failed to find purchase, a new smear of blood was left behind.

Somehow, she found the strength to drag herself towards him. She didn't know why, but she couldn't bear to see him this way. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to end this way. Radditz was supposed to have found them and enlisted their help. They should all be on the same side, fighting monsters – but instead of finding help, both aliens found death on the planet that should have meant freedom for them all.

Just as she reached a boot - the same boot that a few hours ago filled her with terror - he fell out of the hole and collapsed on his side. His breathing was harsh and ragged and reminded her, with painful clarity, the way Radditz had sounded as he took in his last breaths. Bulma's lower lip trembled and she reached a hand to touch his boot. She didn't know why. To offer comfort?

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't want it to be this way."

His one good eye popped open; if it was the sound of her voice or her touch that stirred him, she didn't know. Slowly, he lifted a hand towards her. She wasn't sure if he was asking her to take it, but understood his intent when a soft glow started to form around his bloodied fingers. She closed her eyes, expecting – and accepting - this to be her last moments. Beneath closed lids, two fat tears paved two paths down her cheeks, washing soot away as they fell. She held her breath. And.. nothing.

Opening her eyes, she saw his hand still raised, but the glow softly faded and disappeared. He let his hand drop and his head fell back as if he were too exhausted to hold it up any longer. He spoke, his clipped, sharp words saturated with bitterness and sarcasm even as he chuckled. She had no idea what he had said, but she had no disillusions. He hadn't spared her life; she simply wasn't worth the precious energy it would take to kill her. She sighed. From relief that she was alive or from indignation that she wasn't worth the effort to kill, she didn't know.

A sound behind her startled her. With more speed and strength than she knew she possessed, she stood and spun around. She almost kept spinning; apparently the world could still tilt if she moved her head too quickly. She caught herself and was able to remain standing, but her vision took a few more moments to catch up. Disoriented, she was proud of herself this time for remembering she was holding a ki-weapon – probably because the thing had saved her from falling over by helping her to correct her balance.

She half-heartedly pointed the thing in the general direction of the sound she had heard. Or at least, she thought it came from that direction. Her ears were still ringing. Drawing herself up as well as she could, she tried to look controlled and menacing. "Who's there?"

She'd have fired first and asked questions later, but she wasn't sure if, in her condition, she'd reveal herself to be utterly incapable of control and menace. From the darkness, hidden by smoke, a soothing voice called out to her.

"It's ok, Bulma. It's just me."

"Us," added a second voice.

The first responded sheepishly, "I mean us. Uh. Goku and Krillen. Tien and Chautzu are somewhere over there on top of that building. Piccallo is with Gohan right over there. And Yamcha is over there across the street. Oh. Nevermind, here he comes."

She had no idea where he was pointing, as she was only now able to their outlines through the wisps of smoke as they came closer. When her eyes confirmed what her ears told her, she sagged in relief, but stood her ground. She was - afraid? Her breath fluttered over her lips. She knew her friends would never harm her. But she couldn't make her feet budge and she couldn't deny that she was afraid of them coming any closer.

"S-Stop," she breathed, not quite understanding why.

"Step aside, Bulma," came Krillen's stiff voice. He had thrown his ki-rifle at her feet, ensuring she had seen him do it. Watching it as it came to rest on the broken ground, she looked back to Krillen's face for an explanation. He grinned at her smugly, as if to tell her that he had found the limit of its power. The thing was barely recognizable as it lay in a smoking, twisted ruin.

"Er..What?" She stammered, not quite following his meaning and wondering why he sounded so angry.

"That thing behind you," came Yamcha's voice from somewhere behind Goku and Krillen. "You're standing in the way. Move."

Bulma jolted and half looked over her shoulder. She had almost forgotten the wounded Saiyan. No. That wasn't right. She still hadn't moved from her protective stance. And her fear… it was definitely fear. For him. Surprised, as if she had lost control of her own body, she looked down at herself and realized she was still pointing her ki-rifle towards her friends. She swallowed.

"I can't do that," her voice was thin and she almost laughed. Even her own throat spoke as if it were separate from her. She hadn't known she was about to speak and the words she had said – did that really come out of her mouth? And what? Would she shoot her friends now, too, with a body that should be hers but acted without her permission or guidance?

She dropped her rifle next to the still-smoking one and watched them clatter together. Looking up, she saw the puzzled looks, and her mouth pressed into a line. She knew these looks. She had been on the receiving end of them for months. Something in her mind….surrendered. No. She was not crazy. She didn't know if her dreams had been memories from a tortured, violent mind or if they had been nothing more than nightmares – but that didn't matter. She knew – _knew_ – she was right in this. The Saiyans were not their enemy.

And she _would_ defend the Saiyan behind her. At any cost.

Ha. Now she was starting to feel a little crazy. A few moments ago, that Saiyan had been about to kill her.

Yamcha stepped forward to grab her arm and pull her out of the way. Without thinking, she slashed his face with her nails – the second time she had done so since the start of the invasion. She watched the look of shock and hurt on his features shift into anger and confusion. She raised her chin in the air and spread her arms wide, defying them – all of them – to challenge her.

"You. Will. _Not_. Touch him!"

A crowd was growing behind them, forming a semi-circle around the scene. She backed up until she stood directly in front of the injured alien. She glanced over her shoulder to assess him quickly. He was sitting up now, but was hunched over, his hands holding a bleeding wound on his side. His panting was ragged and shallow, but his breaths were steady and no longer sounded labored. He flicked his single good eye up and met her gaze for a moment before scanning the growing crowd in front of her. He looked… surprisingly stoic. But she did notice his eye darted from place to place as if still seeking escape before shifting back to her face. For the briefest moment, he looked so lost and confused. And so very _angry_. But then - his expression was blank again.

She looked back to the crowd, and squared her shoulders. With as much ferocity as she could muster, she harpooned Goku's eyes with her own. "Whatever happens to him, happens to me."

Goku – with eyes that looked as lost and confused as those of the man behind her – stared at her and said nothing. It killed her, seeing him like that; like he thought she had chosen a stranger over him. But slowly, he nodded.

"I trust you, Bulma," he whispered.

"But I don't!" Hollered Yamcha. "That murdering bastard got into her head just like the last one did. He's using her to save himself!" He quickly glanced behind her before his eyes returned to hers. "He's mostly dead, anyway. All we have to do is wait. In the meantime…" he spat scathingly, "I know exactly what to do with them. Both of them. To keep them safe and out of the way."

In three steps, he was on top of her, grabbing her behind the head to crush her ear to his lips. "I've waited a long time for you to get your fucking head on straight, and now I have to start all over. But I'll do it, Bulma. Because I don't so easily forget as you. I remember when the only thing you cared about was me."

He shoved her and stomped away angrily. As she watched him disappear in the fog, she couldn't help but feel a stab of regret. It was much less than she would have anticipated, and she felt sadness at this realization. She had tried many times to tell him, but he would never hear her. So instead, she said it to his retreating form and wished she could force her thoughts into his mind like Radditz had forced his thoughts into her own. _I care, Yamcha. But it was never – will never - be enough for you. Because you will never be the __**only**__ thing I care for._


	10. Chapter 10

Bulma trotted after Goku so closely she repeatedly kicked his feet when their strides overlapped. He didn't seem to notice, but he didn't slow his pace, either. He towered over her, and she was trying to peek around his much wider frame to catch a glimpse of the unconscious Saiyan he carried in his arms. They were almost at their destination.

"Goku. At least put us in the same cell. He needs medical attention. I'm not going to be two feet away, stuck on the wrong side of the bars, watching him suffer."

He looked over his shoulder at her, considering her words. He nodded in agreement - in direct contradiction of his words. "I don't know if Yamcha would like that."

Expecting only a halfhearted protest from him anyway, she pushed. "Even weak like this, do you truly think a few steel bars will stop him if he really wanted to hurt me?"

Goku stopped so abruptly, she crashed into his back. Not giving him time to think about the implications of a wounded and angry alien trapped in the same room as her, she seized his arm and pulled it, causing him to look down at her. She swallowed, already feeling guilty for what she was about to say.

"You did say you trusted me…"

His eyes studied her. They were full of worry, uncertainty, a need to believe in her – and finally – trust. Again, he nodded. "I do trust you, Bulma."

Pushing the overnight detox-room door open with his foot, he ducked through the entrance of the cell and stepped over to the lone bench in the room. The place wasn't overly large; as a holding cell used only to detain people overnight while they sobered up, it wasn't meant to be cozy. It had a bench, a toilet in the corner, and a sink. It would be safe, though; though there were no longer police in the station, the building was secure. At least, secure from people who weren't obnoxiously strong and could pop steel doors off the frame. And then put it back.

"I could even say I trust him," Goku said, pointing over his shoulder towards the benched alien with his thumb. "I believed what you said about Radditz. About them coming here looking for me. For us fighters. It just felt right, somehow. They're like me, Bulma. Maybe they're a little bit meaner, but – they're – we're – deep down we're the same. They just need a chance to prove it."

He let his head drop in shame and shoved his hands in the pockets of his gi. Looking anywhere but at Bulma, he let out a long whoosh of air. She didn't ask him why, if he had believed her the whole time everyone else thought she was crazy, he hadn't defended her. He started to feel awkward in the silence, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"And?" She prompted, knowing if he thought she was too angry to speak to him, he would be too nervous to continue.

His words came out in a rush, like it had been an explosion on the tip of his tongue just waiting for release. "And we all talked about it. They – we – decided that if all that stuff wasn't real and it was just in your head, it would be bad for you if we went along."

He looked up, his brows pinching as if trying to recall something. "Feeding the delusion, I think."

He looked back at her with confused eyes, imploring her to understand what he didn't. "I didn't want your mind to be broken. I didn't say anything in front of you 'cuz I didn't want to make it worse if they were right and you really weren't working. They said it could make you worse."

Reaching up to take her shoulders in his hands, he very lightly squeezed. "I told everyone I believed you, though. All the time."

She smiled wistfully at him and put a hand on his chest. How like Goku to betray her to her face in order to protect her just to turn around and fight for her behind her back. Keeping his mouth shut must have killed him inside – more so than the hurt she had felt. In that moment, she loved Goku more than she ever had before. Who could resist a heart like his? Simple, gullible, infuriating, _pure_, heart? She kept the moment for as long as she could, then put it into a warm velvet box in the back of her mind. Whenever she was lost, confused, or lonely, she'd pull it open and remember that her best friend believed in her, loved her, and would do anything he could to protect her – even from herself.

His smiled broadened when he felt the shift in her mood, and like an excited child, his eyes lit up. "We all believed the part about a bunch of bad guys coming to Earth, though. Which is why it was good that you built all those rifles. You were _you_ when you started making things again." He grinned, and then seemed to remember the wounded Saiyan on the bench. His grin fell into a grimace and he whispered, "Krillen didn't have to break it just to see how powerful it was – but - I don't think anything else could have stopped that guy." He tilted his head to indicate the other Saiyan apologetically.

She stepped away from him and his arms dropped to his sides. Walking towards the bench, she spoke to him over her shoulder. "We will be ok in here, Goku. When you're all done fighting and protecting the world, we'll be waiting."

He nodded. As he turned to exit, she couldn't resist saying, "See you tomorrow!"

He threw a sloppy grin at her as he left.

She watched his back as he walked away from her – mostly because she knew once he was gone, she had a problem waiting for her attention. When she could no longer fool her imagination into thinking she could still hear Goku, she lifted her head high, straightened her back, and turned around.

And two coal-black eyes stared back at her. One burned bright in feverish distrust, the other was halfway hidden under a swollen, droopy eyelid. It took all her discipline not to flinch. Instead, she cleared her throat and bounced on her toes a few times, wondering what to say.

"Oh!" She cried, fumbling to open a cargo pocket. She pulled out the scouter, and when she realized that it was shattered in several places, tried not to collapse onto the floor in a blubbering heap. Nervous, uncertain, and more than a little afraid, her body practically hummed for distraction. So she paced. She paced and berated herself out loud, not caring that she was making a spectacle of herself in front of the alien.

Suddenly she stopped and abruptly turned to face him.

He had been content to watch her move back and forth across the room – or at least, he hadn't done anything to indicate he cared one way or another – but when she stopped moving, his eyes snapped to her face. She closed her eyes and prayed that what she was about to do wasn't severely stupid. Twisting a capsule off of her bracelet, she fingered the code, pressed the button, and threw it to the ground. It poofed open in a cloud of smoke that, as it cleared, revealed a very incredulous Saiyan. He quickly schooled his features to be blank, but wasn't successful enough to hide his wary interest. He watched every move with greedy attention. She tried to ignore it, but she was positive she could feel the weight of his stare.

Separating medical supplies from the rest, she recapsuled the excess before looking back at her very likely very unwilling patient.

Sighing, she grabbed the medical supplies and stood. Instantly, a low, deep growl vibrated from deep in his chest. When he ran out of breath, he hissed as he brought more air into his lungs to growl again. Though the sound made her insides melt into goo, she forcefully swallowed her fear. No way.

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him, giving him an unspoken command. _Don't challenge me, buddy. I'm Bulma Briefs._

He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly unimpressed.

She raised her eyebrows in response, just to prove she could – right before lowering them again. She had to show him she would not be intimidated. Besides! She saved this guy's life – she wasn't about to let him die just because he was too damn stubborn to let her help him. Pssh. What a baby! Like a child with a skinned knee, he didn't want anyone to look at his booboo. Well, tough shit, Mr. Bad Man.

At least, that's what she told herself. If he was a baby, all he could do was cry. Right? So then.

She took a step forward and felt a burst of pain in her skull. Ooh! That cheat. Quickly, she filled her mind with mathematical calculations, particle string theory, the cute shoes she saw yesterday, the sandwich she made that would have been sitting near her alarm clock if her nightstand still existed – she hadn't finished it as she fiddled with the scouter – and anything else she could think of to keep him out of her head. It was working, but he was fighting it and eventually, he would win.

And then something popped into her mind that she hadn't intended. She had wondered -, when he had first found her sprawled in cardboard boxes and Chinese food, but had shoved the thought into the closet of her head that was full of bad ideas and horrible thoughts. The last time she had opened this door, she had been fifteen sitting in an advanced physics course for a doctorate – daydreaming about the professor. It hadn't ended up well when the professor had asked her a question and she responded with – something clearly not physics related. She'd never gone back to that class.

She tried to grab the tail end of the thought before it fully escaped the closet, but she was too late. She hadn't known what she was doing when the thought had been made, but what's done was done. And now – it was out in the open for him to see.

He flinched, and all pressure on her mind abruptly evaporated. It was so sudden, she nearly lost her balance. She hadn't realized she had been physically leaning forward as she pushed back with her mind. Catching herself before she fell, she recovered more quickly than he. Embarrassed, she watched him from the corner of her eye, wondering how he'd take her obviously overzealous imagination.

He seemed…. Genuinely confused. He brushed his fingertips against his lips as if wondering, if by touching them, he could understand why she would wish to put her mouth on his. _Geez, it's like he's never been kissed before_, she thought. She studied him for a moment as he lowered his hand from his lips and glanced back at her, eyes full of bafflement and wariness. _Ok. He's definitely never been kissed. He doesn't even know what it is._

She pulverized a tiny thought in the back of her mind that wondered _how could he know what a tongue was for if he didn't even know what a kiss was? _**That **thought wasn't even allowed to survive in her daydream closet.

She took a deep breath and let it out before taking another cautious step towards him. He shied away from her, but didn't assault her mind again. Her lips twisted in a wry pout. _Who'd have thought? The big bad alien, felled by the thought of kissing me._ She smirked. _What a prude._

She finally reached the bench. His breaths came in quick pants, and his mouth was open as if tasting the air. She recognized the act from something Goku did subconsciously when he was unsure about something. Usually when he was nervous around ChiChi. It must be a Saiyan thing. This one was literally tasting the air, smelling her to see if she was, in this case, a threat. At least this one didn't make a weird face when he did it. Goku always looked like he had peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.

She relaxed her muscles and moved with exaggerated slowness. And, even though he wouldn't understand her words, she spoke to him in a soothing voice. It worked, for the most part, until she picked up some scissors to cut off the remainder of his tattered body suit. At this point, she just stared at him, scissors in hand, until he relented. She felt guilty – she knew he was still bleeding and his acquiescence was likely from failing strength. He simply didn't have the energy to argue.

After that, things went smoothly. The bastard even had the balls to fall asleep as she cleaned his wounds. She humphed to herself. After all that spit and vinegar, what a little liar. He hadn't once tried to harm her. In fact, he'd seemed more afraid of her than she had of him. And her fear of him, slowly fading as she worked, had plummeted by the time she had wrapped the last injury. She didn't delude herself, though. He was hurt. Once he was feeling better – things would likely drastically change.

She decided she'd cross that bridge when she got there.

She stood up to stretch and her back popped. "Woah," she said to herself. She looked down at his sleeping form and cocked an eyebrow. "Ok Mr. Greedy. I'm done with you." She turned and walked towards the sink, mumbling. "It's my turn to get attention, now."

She took her jacket off, torn in too many places to really be a jacket any longer, and threw it to the floor. Then, like peeling off a second skin because it was stuck to her from grime, blood, and she didn't want to know what, her tshirt and bra were next to hit the floor. Wetting a washcloth in the sink, she wrung it out and started cleaning the grubbiness off of her skin.


	11. Chapter 11

He didn't know what she wanted from him. This frail human female who stood between him and certain death. Why had she done it? It angered him because he couldn't understand. He had dimly been aware of being lifted and carried, but hadn't had the strength to resist. He had listened to the human speak with Kakarot in her human language. He hadn't understood, but when he had cracked an eye open to watch, he thought he understood a little more. This human woman who had defended him was trying to convince this Earth-twisted Saiyan to leave her. With him.

The look on Kakarot's face had been haunted. Why? Why would a Saiyan think so much of a fragile woman as to allow himself to be emotionally distraught by one? _Who the fuck __**is**__ this ridiculous female?_ He had wanted to shout the question at the two. Instead, he watched them and became more baffled and angry as he did so.

When finally the blasted pseudo-Saiyan left, he decided to let the female know he was awake. He needed to take back control and even if the other Saiyan wouldn't assert himself, he certainly would. What had happened next hadn't been part of the plan.

After watching her make a fool of herself, pacing back and forth after having lost the scouter, she had abruptly stopped. Interested in spite of himself, he continued to watch her. There was nothing else to do. At least, not until he gained the strength to break out of here. Unless there was something unseen that would ensure he stayed here? They knew what he was, and even injured, they would know he couldn't be kept in a cage such as this one.

Bah.

And then – magic. No. Not magic. Something even more improbable. Something small thrown to the ground and when the smoke cleared, something large in its place. He knew what he had seen, but he couldn't wrap his mind around _how_ it could be done. He looked back up at the female, even more wary. He knew she was intelligent; she had changed the scouter technology to suit her needs. Just how intelligent was she? Was that why everyone seemed to defer to her? No matter. Just so long as she kept to her side of the cage, he couldn't care less who she was or what she was doing.

But then she stood, clearly intending to approach him and he… reacted. He didn't know why he felt so threatened by her. He knew she couldn't – wouldn't – harm him. He didn't know why he knew this, but he was certain of it. Maybe that was why he felt so strangely off balanced. He'd never felt safe before, and the sensation made him feel vulnerable. He simply didn't trust it.

So when she challenged him, he felt more at ease. And, oddly, amused. What kind of prey threatened a predator?

His amusement was replaced by surprise when she took a step towards him. Annoyed, he stabbed at her mind… and was shocked to find it extremely well defended. He pushed harder, thrusting aside the mixture of gibberish and symbols meant to confuse him. He was getting nervous. Never before had he met such resistance. Angry, he pushed even harder.

And then promptly, his brain broke. Or rather, his control of it did. The image was.. like nothing he could make sense of. Visually, he could ascertain the activity; her mouth was pressing against his. But the feelings behind it mystified him. Wholly withdrawing from her mind, he retreated and put barriers up to protect his own mind against a further attack. He didn't understand why this image disturbed and fascinated him so powerfully, but something about it reminded him of Zarbon's game. He wasn't sure if he believed the little human female was trying to manipulate his arousal to gain control, especially when the image had an undertone of shyness and embarrassment. He wasn't even sure if arousal was supposed to be an effect of the image. Or the action the image portrayed.

The whole thing left him puzzled, annoyed, wary, and, bizarrely – insanely curious.

He allowed her to approach him. Still trying to discern deception, he tasted the air. She smiled patiently at him, like she knew what he was doing. This irritated him even more but he found himself relaxing under her fingers. It wasn't until she handled a cutting instrument that he realized he had grown _too_ comfortable. He stared at her while she stared at him, trying to figure out why the hell he didn't care that she was sitting so closely, why it didn't bother him that she was touching him.

He sighed, torn between lethargy and wariness. Then it hit him.

The reason her scent had caught his attention before; it was calming. The deeper he breathed, the more tranquil he felt. This in itself should have been enough to blast her across the room in a mist of blood and bone. But the peculiar buzz of peace teased his exhausted mind, and the certainty that she wouldn't harm him floated into his awareness again.

He decided to allow her to finish. He'd sort out the rest later – for now, he didn't have to particularly like the female to trust her to tend his wounds. After all, she was familiar with Kakarot and knew well that Saiyans were most dangerous when they were injured. And there was Radditz who had trusted her. Not that Kakarot and Radditz were shining examples of Saiyan behavior.

He closed his eyes and relaxed under her fingers. Never once did his attention waver.

So when she stood up and started speaking to him, he realized she believed him to be asleep. As her voice moved across the room, he opened his eyes. When she started to disrobe in front of the sink, he suspected he knew what she was doing. Yet, he continued to watch her with mild, detached interest. When she was finished washing, he closed his eyes before she turned around.

Sometime later, he awoke when he heard her shifting position on the floor. He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep, but he was beyond caring about the woman or her intentions. She wasn't a threat. If she became one, he'd kill her. For now, she brought him water, ensured his bandages were clean, and spoke to him. He didn't understand her words, but her voice was soft and soothing. She wasn't Saiyan, but she was the only other being here. She would have to do. He had been alone in space way too long already. He had expected to meet Radditz and Kakarot here… not get stuck with a human woman.

He sighed and closed his eyes again. He didn't miss Radditz or Nappa, but they were necessary. As telepathic creatures, Saiyans used their minds just as much as they did any other sense. When there were no other minds shoving, poking, slapping, squashing, guiding, or – simply _there_ to brush up against just to feel another presence – Saiyans became unstable. They relied on each other for balance. A Saiyan alone was… dangerous. Growing more and more desperate for telepathic contact, a Saiyan would become enraged and panicked; lose control of their ki bit by bit until it consumed them completely. But worse than death by loss of control was the time spent before that moment; drifting in the depths of their own limitless emotions and perceptions without other minds to lean against, eventually – a year, maybe more, maybe less - a Saiyan would become unreachable in a haze of featureless, endless nothingness. Insanity. It would be a release when one finally succumbed to the implosion of their own ki.

This was why Freeza had left him a kingdom of two fellows; older and more experienced so they could help their powerful Prince. Even Freeza understood that the more powerful the Saiyan, the more dangerous if ever lost within the nothing. The problem was the two he had were barely sufficient. If his people and planet were still in existence, he likely would have had dozens of Saiyan minds dedicated to him as he was raised. Minds to educate him and guide him, minds to suppress his wildly potent ki until he could learn to control it under the influence of intense emotion. Minds to help his body and ki adjust as he came of age..

The woman sat up and looked out of the cage and down the hallway. She didn't realize the noise she had heard was a rodent climbing through the walls. Vegeta counted backwards and deduced that they had been inside this cage for almost two full days, and were halfway through their third. In another day or so, he'd be able to rise from where he lay, tear off the door, and walk out. It would still be some time before he could fly. Though the woman had plenty of food in those impossible miniature contraptions of hers, he couldn't eat as much as he needed to heal. When he had been hit with that energy beam, something deep inside him had ruptured.

If they were stuck in here much longer, though, he'd need the woman's help using the - towlet? – Whatever she called the thing in the corner. Every so often she pointed at it and then at him with a question in her voice. He only knew what it was for because she had needed to use it surprisingly often. Couldn't her body use water more efficiently? Apparently she knew to be embarrassed by this because every time she went to sit on the contraption, she chirruped at him energetically until he relented and looked away. At this point, when he saw her moving towards the thing, he turned his head without her encouragement. As if he had interest in her bodily functions.

He touched her mind again. He tried to resist the urge to do so as long as he could each time, but he found he was starting to subconsciously look for the reassurance of another mind even in his sleep. He wasn't sure if she noticed it, but if she did, she didn't try to block him. He tried to be as subtle as he could, anyway. Accepting the human's help was one thing. Allowing her to know he found – needed - comfort from mind to mind contact was out of the question.

She was pacing in front of the cage door. This time the sound was definitely not from a rodent in the walls. Suddenly very alert, he pushed his awareness out. Over the last days, he had learned a telepathic alteration when trying to reach out undetected to the woman's mind. It didn't work so well with the kind of mental connection he needed, but it was a revealing, quite useful discovery. He prepared his mind as he would before making a telepathic connection, but he reached out with his ki instead. The result had been so shocking, and the effort so simple, he wondered how he had never discovered this before. He felt the location, strength, and even the disposition of life forces as far out as he could reach with his ki. With practice, he was learning how to discern specific life forms from others. He was certain he could recognize the woman without effort. He'd been stuck with her long enough.

But now, he felt something – different. Life forms, yes. Three had a fair level of ki, one was substantially stronger. There were four of them, and without a doubt, they were purposefully headed towards he and the human.

He struggled to sit and instantly, the woman was at his side trying to help him. He didn't bother slapping her away with much vigor; she was a persistent little pest, and he wasn't sure yet whether or not he would need her assistance. Sitting upright was… more difficult than he had expected, and standing would be a feat of miraculous will even with her help. He flicked a heated glare in her direction just to be sure she understood and she backed away. Not too far away, he noticed. He also noticed that she had reacted to his response when he realized something was approaching. She had trusted his instinct and she had come to his side - as an ally would. Foolish woman. Hadn't she even considered it might have been a rodent in the wall? Or that those who approached could very well be her own companions returned for her?

He peered at her from the corner of his eye. She looked towards the hallway, not with anticipation of a reunion with those whom she trusted, but with trepidation. Did she _know_ there were enemies approaching? Or was she just following his lead? How did she know he wouldn't react to her associates in this manner? _How did she even know he knew someone approached? _What if all he had wanted was to release his water into that contraption in the corner?

He narrowed his eyes before turning his attention back to the hallway. None of that mattered.

They sat. And they waited.


	12. Chapter 12

Though it must have been painful for him, she didn't think he could stop the guttural, feral growl that grew in intensity and volume at the sounds of something approaching. When four strange aliens came into view, The Saiyan's tail hairs were standing on end and he was snarling so viciously, his whole body was shuttering with barely contained rage.

As they approached the door, she stood, unconsciously placing herself between them and the still injured man behind her. The past day or so, she had been – for lack of a better description – getting impressions from the Saiyan. At first, she had thought it was an accidental collision of his telepathic mind against hers. But as the contacts had increased in frequency, they had become more subtle just as they had grown more intimate. She could now sense when he was hungry and thirsty, when he was angry and when he was… less angry, and when he slept – his mind unfolded and stretched under hers like she was a blanket of security.

He never pushed into her thoughts; it was almost like he was just… checking. Ensuring that indeed, she was still there. After a while, she had just shrugged it off as a Saiyan thing. He wasn't intruding or harming her, and he didn't even seem aware he was doing it. As a telepathic being, reaching out to other minds was probably a reflex. And, she admitted, it seemed to calm him when he was agitated. She was actually getting to the point of finding it calming herself. It was like she had become accustomed to his brief mental brush-ups. If too long a time went by between his check-ins, it felt like she had misplaced something and didn't know what it was or where to look for it.

This is how she had known immediately that there had been enemies approaching. She hadn't questioned it; she simply believed the Saiyan's interpretation of the approaching foursome as if his conclusion would be the natural resolution she would have selected on her own. Her first instinct had been to go and defer to him. It didn't escape her notice that this instinct of hers completely accepted and concede to his - and she still didn't know his name.

When the four appeared, she responded again without thought. Idly, she wondered where the hell her fear was. She mentally rolled her eyes. It was sitting on the bench behind her. If she was no longer afraid of _him_, she doubted she could ever feel fear again. Nothing else seemed like it could live up to the terror he had been capable of making her feel. Was still capable of doing, actually. Now that he was awake and aware more often.

She cleared her throat. Without the scouter, she had no idea how – or even if – the four would communicate.

When one of them spit out a string of utter nonsensical sounds, she was surprised when the Saiyan behind her responded with something that must have been a name. Or an insult. Or both. She got a fleeting impression that the Saiyan had just compared – Appulhay? .. Appulay? – something like that - to a substance comprised of intestinal pustules covered in parasites and fecal residue. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, glad that the visual hadn't included an accompanying scent. Bulma considered the Appule fellow. Now that she thought about it, he did sort of look like a worm with that elongated, swollen head, washed-out, purplish complexion, and beady red eyes. Having no nose to speak of didn't help him, either.

One of the four aliens held up his hand. His eyes flicked over the woman's shoulder to the Saiyan and then back to her face. He was certain the human had directly reacted to something the Saiyan had said, but he was also certain she didn't understand galactic standard. When he opened his mouth to speak, the human nearly squeaked when she heard English. She narrowed her eyes, probably looking for, but would not find, any device used for translation. She was probably wondering how the hell he could speak the language of her planet. She wouldn't understand if he told her that in fact, he could not.

"Seventy-nine local planet hours has passed since the initial purge began. It was unsuccessful; technology that was unknown to Freeza was used to repel the attack force. Twenty-four local planet hours after the technology was first used, it failed. A second purge force has not yet arrived. In the interim, we have been sent to collect beneficial assets for use in our own purposes," his eyes flicked over to the Saiyan behind her again before returning to hers.

As the alien – another purple freak with protrusions on the sides of his head for ears, continued to speak, Bulma's anxiety level rose. Her anger rose in correlating proportions. What the fuck?

"We were drawn here by the ki signature of the Saiyan. He is a known agent of Freeza, and his loss would be substantial. We are taking the Saiyan –"

"The hell you are!" She broke in. The alien didn't bother hiding a slight up curve of his lips. He pretended she hadn't interrupted, but his attention now was evenly split between the human and her pet monkey, who, he noted, looked carefully neutral but was paying too close attention to a language he couldn't understand. Unless it wasn't the language in particular that he understood.

The alien narrowed his eyes and focused raptly on Bulma, but ensured that he had the Saiyan was within his view. If his suspicion were correct, one of them was bound to respond to something he said, if he put the right kind of pressure on them. He didn't know which it would be or what it would be, but if one of them responded at all, he wanted to judge how the other would react. He had been prepared to say that they would be taking the Saiyan as well as herself. But…

"You are little use to us; you are free to go. There may be an Earth resistance preparing for the secondary purge force. They may not be successful repelling Freeza's forces a second time. An alternative is to hide, though I doubt either option would provide reprieve from Freeza for long." He shrugged, clearly showing that either way she chose, it wasn't really a choice but rather a matter of time.

When she did nothing but stare back at him and breathe heavily, and the Saiyan sat like an immobile statue, he started to doubt his initial assumption that the two shared a connection. The first alien who had spoken with Vegeta now spoke into his ear. He listened intently, then his eyes darted up to consider attacking the human from a different angle.

Bulma felt self-conscious as the weirdo alien's gaze lingered on her chest? No… something on her shoulder. She backed a step, crossed her arms to hide, well, whatever he was looking at, and chewed her lip.

The alien took her in with new interest, and his eyes glinted when he spoke to her.

"That emblem – the curved line within a circle - it is the same seen on many of the recovered weapons found here." He cocked his head. "I am curious. Was it by design that the weapons failed? Or was it a flaw?"

"They didn't fail. They went into stasis." she spat defensively. Behind her, Vegeta stiffened. It was almost imperceptible, but to one looking for it, it had been enough. Maybe the Saiyan hadn't understood her words, but he had certainly understood that she had given away information that could be used. Instinctively, he had cringed. The human hadn't see it, but the alien watching them both roared internally with triumph. She had responded to the Saiyan without realizing it. Even now she continued to respond to his mental cue as she sputtered, trying to back pedal. "But I can't reactivate them. My facility has been destroyed."

Bulma didn't know why, but the look the alien was giving had become predatory when mere seconds ago, he had seemed bored. Uncertain and extremely nervous, as if she had given away much more than an admission to being a weapons designer, she backed away. When she could feel the sleepy electrical aura pulsing around the Saiyan behind her, she stopped retreating and instead, stood her ground.

"I won't help you," she said flatly. "And he isn't going with you, either," she hastily added, referring to Vegeta.

The alien fought to keep his features bland and waved her words away, uninterested. She couldn't know that the alien had been trying to confirm the presence of a mental connection between she and Vegeta. It was weak – if it was indeed there at all – but even the potential that they could be mind-linked couldn't be ignored. Instead, he barked something unintelligible to his companions who then positioned themselves at the door to the cell. Two of them tore the door from its hinges and the last entered through the vacant frame.

"I may have believed you, had I not known you have no need of facilities to reactivate your weapons. But we have no interest in your weapons. It is the mind of their creator we find valuable."

Bulma's features crumpled into a cross of perplexed anxiousness and annoyed defiance. He simply smiled and shrugged at her as if to say, _It is what it is._ The two who had removed the door entered and approached the Saiyan, who had curiously stopped growling in favor for listening once she had started speaking. He couldn't have understood the words, but he probably had gathered quite a lot from tone of voice and visual body cues. In fact, he probably had a better understanding than she did. He wasn't protesting, even as they secured a device around his throat. She knew it would dampen his ki; it was familiar enough to the Saiyan that she could recognize it through vague, far away emotions. She chewed her lip. She wasn't sure if she should be more worried that the Saiyan was less aware that his thoughts were leaking or that he seemed no more than mildly annoyed about the whole thing – as if he were a movie star and someone had interrupted him for an autograph.

She frowned, but stopped struggling and trying to bite. How could he do that? He was being taken captive – again – by those who wanted to probably kill him – again – and he was calm about it? Like he was gracefully suffering someone's idea of doing him an honor or a favor he found tedious but couldn't politely refuse?

As they exited the cell, she with an escort who had her by the upper arm, and the Saiyan, who insisted on walking out on his own, she stopped just outside of the door so she could look up at the presumed leader.

"This guy," she said, pointing to her chaperon with her head, "knew –"she glanced at Vegeta, unable to speak his name for lack of knowing what it was. She sighed and looked back at the alien leader. He knew who she meant. "They spoke to each other like they knew and hated each other. Even if you're against Freeza, that doesn't mean you're fighting for the right team, either. You can't force us to fight with you."

He chuckled. "Brave one," he mocked her, "what makes you think that either of them, or any of us, ever had or have now a _choice _for or against whom we fight? We are none of us in control, little female." He peered at her with peculiar intensity, and she could almost swear that two people were assessing her through his eyes.

"At least, most of us aren't," he stated suggestively before turning to lead them out.

She frowned at his back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He laughed and glanced over his shoulder briefly. "It means, human, that if your mind is what we think it is, you may be able to keep your pet Saiyan."

He refused to say more.


	13. Chapter 13

The purple, pickle-headed shit-pimple had let go of Bulma when it was clear that her only interest was to help – or try to help -the struggling Saiyan. By the time they reached the belly of a transport craft, blood had started to stream over his side and fell like a trickling waterfall down leg. Everywhere he stepped, he left crimson footprints. Before he had finally been allowed to collapse in an oppressively dark, vastly open bay, he had grudgingly relented and held onto the stubborn woman's shoulder with one hand but refused further assistance by grimacing at her whenever she thought to do more. Though his paltry protests weren't done with much conviction, he resented needing her help and resented allowing it even more. Once he had found a spot on the ground where he could rest, he was done with her. He wanted her away from him so he could get the residue of the calming scent that leached his anger away off of his skin. He needed the feel of her mind to disappear so he could be free to think clearly once again.

He just wanted to _sleep_.

It didn't make any difference what his current captors thought they were going to do with him. Obviously, they wanted him alive. Sure, they may leave him in the guts of this ship wounded and weak and vulnerable to the dozens of other probable hostile aliens sharing the same space. He'd survive. He'd done this too many times before to believe differently. It mattered little if he were a victim here. He would live through it regardless of how little he cared to. Not that he wanted to die – but living wasn't really much more than death. Except that it hurt more. And recovery required revenge. It was something to live for, he supposed. So, he would regain his strength, and he would wait for as long as it took to teach everyone exactly who he was and what he was capable of; teach them precisely how little he cared about the amount of humiliation, pain, and suffering he would endure. He would endure it all. In the end, they would undergo such misery at his hands that his own anguish would pale in comparison.

He acknowledged this, and then he allowed himself to sleep. He didn't know how much he would get before the hunt for his blood would begin.

It wasn't long – not more than the time it took to launch into space – before he awoke to a foot slamming into his injured side. The pain was so intense he nearly fell unconscious the moment he had awoken. The only thing preventing such a cowardly escape was his searing rage. With greedy desperation, he held on to his fury just as forcefully as he swallowed back bile and blood. He rolled to his side and forced himself to his hands and knees, fighting off waves of nausea, prepared to stand and determined to make his attacker bleed at least as much as he before he fell.

And then, she was there.

His vision swam, but the room was dark enough that even his unfocused mind was snagged by several flashes of heat and light that burst from her hand. It seemed everyone else had noticed the result if not the catalyst. His enormous attacker had been standing one moment, challenging him to fight, and the next - he lay bleeding, dead long before he had hit the floor.

Slowly, the Saiyan started to laugh.

Cui had been so terrified of his ki, even in this weakened state, that he had forgotten that the woman was a weapons designer. Or at least, that's what Vegeta assumed she was. Stuck in that cage with little else to do but pester him, she had tried to fix the scouter. The thing was destroyed; from what he had gathered, after hours of her fiddling with it, she had not met much success. So, she had opened her little collapsing pills and started taking apart and cannibalizing other bits of technology and had made, what he believed at the time, was an energy weapon meant to protect herself against _him_.

That's the moment when it had all clicked for him. A woman who could understand and manipulate technology – even that which was foreign to her, who was able to create an energy weapon in a tiny cage with few, patched together resources and little time… the high-pitched sound of something charging in the dimness of the fog and ash, a sudden, impossible blast that was too powerful to have come from anyone on the planet after he had dispatched Zarbon – and the ruined weapon thrown at the feet of the woman, as if to show her that in its destruction, he – the Saiyan Prince - had become the prize.

It had been her. Her design. Her weapon.

Was that why she defended him? Out of a sense of obligation because she had glimpsed a tiny fraction of his mind, seen that he had intended to be an ally?

No. He hadn't meant to be an ally. He had sent Radditz to Earth looking for those who could become _his_ ally. Tools for his use. Nothing more. She knew that. She had even been sorry that he had failed…

And he had failed. The moment they castrated him from his ki.

But…When Cui had instructed Appule to collar him in a ki suppressing device, they had never even considered checking the human. Strange considering Cui had asked her specifically about her weapons designs. The foolish little female had taken the bait and had admitted that the designs were hers. He hadn't understood with words, but he had been monitoring the woman's thoughts – no. Not thoughts. More like mental imagery than actual thoughts. His intent was to understand what was being said to her - he hadn't realized she was aware of his mind floating on the fringes of her own until she had reacted to his distress. He had chastised himself for being obvious but quickly became confused when he discovered Cui wasn't after her weapons.

That left only one possibility: The only thing the woman could possibly have of interest besides her weapons was her intelligence. So, with that a known factor, in addition to being aware that she could design weapons, why hadn't they checked her for any?

He bitterly tasted the irony. Every single being in this former-storage, now turned trafficking-room was infinitely more powerful than the silly little female, and every one of them hated Saiyans. At the moment, every one of them likely wanted him dead but was incapable of reaching for or manipulating ki. They could rely on physical strength, as could he, but - everyone knew that he couldn't defend himself against them all in his current state.

But she could. And despite being laughably weak - she was now the most powerful being in the room.

And she had chosen to protect him with the very weapon she had made to protect herself against him.

He wanted to kill her right then, likely as much as those she was forcing back with her energy-pistol contraption.

Instead, he had laughed.

When he ran out of strength and was too weary to continue to give a shit about his circumstances, he allowed himself to fall to his side and rolled over onto his back. He didn't care what she did. If she decided to guard him, that was her wish. But before he closed his eyes and let sleep steal his consciousness, he wondered why this woman had placed herself between him and a certain death - again. And again he wondered if Radditz had some sort of freakish vision of the future and had somehow set this all into play. If that were the case, was he, Vegeta, supposed to accept whatever part he was to play? What price would he be forced to pay for an outcome he wasn't aware of? Would the outcome be worth it? If it were, would he bother to pay that price?

What would happen if he didn't?

His eyes fluttered as sleep finally took him. But as he was drifting off, one thought pierced through to his soul.

_What would happen if he did?_

Had he been fully aware of the thought, he would have killed her right then without hesitation.


	14. Chapter 14

She didn't know how many days had passed. She kept track of time the only way she knew she could: The cycles of when she was hungry, when she was tired, and when she needed to pee.

She had been at a loss for what to do when her throat started to burn from thirst. And if she was thirsty, the Saiyan, who had suffered such blood loss, would be half dead with want of water. He slept fitfully, and in his fever dreams, his mind had smashed into hers. The need for water was painful enough that she had half risen without thought to look for water before sitting back down.

The only source of water was in a communal barrel at the center of the room, too far away from the Saiyan to risk leaving him lying alone and vulnerable. There were no bottles, no cups, no bowls – no way to carry water to him, anyway. And certainly there was no way to carry him to the water. Frustrated, she cried out bitterly inside the safety of her skull. She had water! Bottles upon bottles of water dangling like charms on her wrist. She hadn't wanted to use the capsules before now because she knew if she did, her secret would be known. Even with an energy pistol, she doubted she could protect all of her supplies if everyone rushed her. Looking at the delirious Saiyan though, whose eyes were open and trying to focus on her, she fingered the bracelet. When he clasped a hand over the bracelet around her wrist, silencing the tinkling capsules, he shook his head. He didn't want her giving up this secret, either, and he was willing to suffer for it. Or maybe he knew if she opened one, they'd likely both die in the ensuing charge from everyone trying to claim it for themselves. At least, she would die. He'd probably just get out of the way and take the bracelet for himself at his first opportunity. Telling her to keep it hidden just meant there would be fewer supplies stolen by the time he took it.

After those pitiful thoughts, forcing herself to stay awake became even more difficult. She was exhausted and her body was fighting against the need for water as well as the need for sleep. She didn't think she could win either battle, but she didn't know how to solve it so she ignored it. The first day or so of forcing herself to stay awake after the Saiyan's only attempt to communicate – which was to tell her no - she had fallen into a bitter argument with herself. She could protect him by opening the capsules and giving him water and revealing her capsules and condemn herself. She could protect him by refusing to open the capsules and die of thirst as a result. Either way, she was protecting him and got screwed in the process.

_Why was she protecting him, anyway? _

After that, sleep had just.. happened. Instead of waking to a dead Saiyan though, she awoke, fully refreshed, and nothing had happened to her 'prince in distress' as she slept. After making a mad dash for the water barrel and practically drowning herself in it, her suspicions were confirmed. She deduced that no one thought it worthwhile to challenge her or pick a fight with a wounded Saiyan and had just let them be. She worked hard to foster this and with great effort and a lot of luck, had pantomimed that when he finally healed, he would remember very well who had behaved and who hadn't.

She didn't complain when they all gave her and the Saiyan a wide berth after that. She just hoped her luck didn't desert her. She didn't know what she'd do if – or when – these people realized they could gang up on her and steal her pistol. Or just waited until she fell asleep again and take it then. But instead of her fears coming to life, something else entirely unexpected happened.

Something she had said, or something they thought she said, or for reasons unknown, the next time she awoke after an accidental sleep, there had actually been donations of, she assumed, good-will food.

She had calculated that once a day, a chute opened and rations were dropped through. After shooting a few holes near the feet of the more greedy aliens, they had allowed her to chose first and take all she could carry. After doing this a time or two more, the donations had just started appearing. But the Saiyan wouldn't eat. He needed water.

Fine.

He would get water the same way she had been getting it.

Walking over to the barrel with determination, she dunked her head into the barrel and took as much water into her mouth as she could. She then walked back to his prone form, hidden in a dark corner as far away from everyone as he could get. He didn't even struggle as she tilted his face towards her own. She tapped his cheek to get his attention. When he didn't resist or push her away, she gently pried his mouth open with her fingers and let the fluid trickle from her lips into his. Instantly, his entire body tensed. His hands flew up and clutched her arms painfully to hold her in place. As he swallowed, he lifted his head to bring her lips closer to his until they almost touched. She stiffened and would have retreated at this sudden, unexpected, pseudo-intimacy weirdness, but he held her tightly in place until she had no more water to give. His grip on her relaxed slightly and his eyelids fluttered open. He studied her face with a mixture of heat and soft confusion. It was several seconds – an eon – before he released his grip – reluctantly? - and let her go. She backed away slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The look on his face had been identical to the one he had given her when she had accidentally allowed a visual of them kissing to slip from her mind: uncertain, suspicious, confused, and curious. She ignored the look and instead chastised herself for being dumb. Why had she ever thought such a ridiculous, naïve thing? Though her heart galloped within her rib cage in nervous thrills, she knew there was still enough fear and uncertainty to safely drown out anything else. In a thousand years, she would still fear this Saiyan. It saddened her that she would likely feel exactly like this for the rest of her known future – for however long that would be. But adaptation was survival. Right now, she needed a strong ally or she wouldn't survive – even if her foolishly chosen ally terrified her… Despite making that fear intoxicating.

It saddened her as well that someone like him had never had innocence at all. He had been forged from fear and suffering – so much so that he trusted nothing and no one. He had taken water from her, but she didn't know if that made her worthy enough to hide in his shadow when he was well again. It was more likely that she had gained his attention. Somehow, she didn't know if surviving his kind of attention was possible. She may have helped him, hoping to gain a friend, and instead helped herself to an even earlier demise at the hands of that 'friend'.

She had thought Yamcha had been emotional, overbearing, demanding, and inflexible. She had no idea how she would endure the weight of the Saiyan's focused consideration. If he ever decided that she was tolerable as more than just a background shade – if he ever depended on or needed her as she needed him - he would probably crush her just to be rid of that need. She forced her thoughts to quiet, rose to her feet, and turned back towards the water barrel.

It had taken her hundreds of back-breaking trips back and forth to give him water enough to refuse to take more.

After a few more days of this, he had finally started to truly recover. He began to eat like a Saiyan, but he still refused to move far from his corner. Either that or he was being lazy and allowing her to do all the work, like she was some kind of servant woman. She scoffed at herself. Not likely. He wouldn't suffer mouth to mouth water transfer or close proximity with her if he were at all capable of doing things for himself without help.

She blinked. Or maybe he would? He wouldn't want anyone to know how injured and vulnerable he had really been, or how much he had recovered from those injuries for those who wouldn't be fooled into thinking his wounds had been mild. Maybe he'd prefer to have everyone think this was normal behavior between them? Maybe he just wanted to remain unseen so he could avoid attention. In his mind, it was probably better that focuses remain on her so that he could be forgotten.

He still took water from her. Though now his grip on her seemed aggressive, like she was withholding something of his and teasing him with it. He even bit her lips with too much speed for her to avoid if she allowed the water to trickle too slowly. Either that or he liked the taste of her blood mixed with the stale flavor of the water. She gave him water less often, now. She was trying to encourage him to get his own damn water and save herself from split, bleeding lips and bruises from large hands and a boa-constrictor tail. Even if the whole thing were a bit erotic in a masochistic way, she felt like she was a cow being milked.

Even as this happened less and less, he grew healthier and stronger. As he was awake more often, his eyes followed her with an uncomfortable intensity everywhere she went, not that she had far to go. She didn't have much to do, so she played math games she had learned as a child to help her remember complicated formulas. Each segment on her left hand fingers represented a symbol, and each segment on her right hand fingers, a series of numbers. As she twisted her fingers in strange patterns, he watched her hands with rapt interest. When she slept, he watched her. When she left to use the toilet hole, his eyes burned in the direction she had went until she came back. When he slept, she felt his mind wrap around hers like a suffocating cocoon and she was forced to find new ways of projecting mental barriers to keep him out.

At least he wasn't growling at her like he wanted to tear her throat out with his teeth, even if he _was_ biting her. He no longer shoved her away, either. Even if, when his hands did make contact with her, he left bruises.


	15. Chapter 15

That first taste of water had pushed him to wake, but he didn't think all of him had come back from the deep, healing sleep that Saiyans were pulled into once terribly injured. He felt – half aware, as if his thoughts and movements were made sluggish by a world spun from the stuff of dreams. His body was heavy, his emotions seemed half formed and blunted. His was operating on instinct. It did little to know all this because he couldn't change it. Once the sleep had taken him, he was condemned to have to wait for his body to recover before he was fully aware again. If that meant shuffling along only half alert, there was nothing to be done about it. The weary beast inside him – oddly – was content with this. It felt….. safe, somehow.

The only anchor he had to the world was the single familiar awareness that was ever close to him. In his current state, the animal in him trusted it. The mental link was constant, now, though it seemed resistant to his efforts to break into it. He wanted to dig into it and bury himself within it; his instinct demanded the shield of a fully-awake mental sheath to protect him while he was so vulnerable. He was distantly confused and upset that his only security would resist his need. When the presence was closest to him, the beast within him lashed out – tried to force a stronger connection with blood and saliva.

He couldn't fully understand, even had he been wholly aware, the nature of this impulse. Saiyan saliva contained a venom of sorts. A bite would trigger the sacks under his tongue to fill his mouth with this venom so he could inject it through puncture wounds caused by sharp teeth. It would act as a lubricant, enabling his ki to easily flow through her body after the venom had spread. It also acted as a suppressant; the ki of the one being bitten would accept the infiltrating ki of the biter instead of fighting it – like fooling the immune response into thinking the foreign ki was organic instead of external. The flow of the biter's ki would align the two physical bodies and put them in-tune with each other. This would extend the range of telepathic contact, and over time and hundreds of bites, strengthen and extend it imeasurably.

The taste of blood flowing over the tongue of the biter triggered the venom sacks to produce. Exposure to the same blood, over time, would alter the chemistry of the venom to match the chemistry of the bitten; in essence, the venom would customize itself to target the bitten, increasing in potency as well as effectiveness. A bite containing perfectly matched venom would have great effect the one being bitten; ki from the biter could be absorbed and manipulated by the bitten. Such was necessary when coupling. Sharing and controlling each other's ki prevented two Saiyans from damaging each other accidentally. It also allowed two Saiyans a complete and seamless mental connection.

In his half asleep state, he was trying to create a place in which his consciousness could rest safely, deep in the mind of something his animal self couldn't resist. The contact was a balm to the beast and it didn't want to, even if it could, let go of it. Had Vegeta dozens of other Saiyan minds to protect him as he slept, he'd have felt a similar cocoon of safety, but all his life, he had only had Nappa and Radditz. They had shaped his mind as he aged from childhood to adulthood, but they had shaped it in such a way to both protect him from and ruthlessly attack outside threats.

No one had ever prepared him from an attack from within himself. Inside, the suppressed, frightened, lonely animal cried out for comfort and peace it had only felt for the first time in the last days. And the source of that peace opposed him. Angry and forsaken, the beast raged.

And that is how Vegeta finally awoke.

When the woman sighed in her sleep, his eyes opened. Blinking, he took in the scene without moving his head, and he tasted the air with open lips. He wasn't certain exactly where he was, how long he had been here, or why. But for the first time, he felt as though he were thinking clearly in a long while. Searching his memory, he tried to recall the last events before his body had succumbed to the sleep of the Khep'njuhr.

He remembered being on Earth and confronting the woman. He knew he had killed Zarbon – he grinned at this – and he distantly recalled being shot with an impossibly powerful energy rifle. As he stared at the back of the head of the woman three or four feet away from him, he scowled. They had been her weapons. Why hadn't he killed her for being responsible for an attack on him?

He narrowed his eyes. The memories were growing more dreamlike and far away, but he pushed through the cob webs. The woman had protected him. He blinked into the darkness at this discovery. The same suspicion and confusion he had felt in those moments bubbled up from his spine and broke into his brain. He didn't know what to make of it, so he placed it to the side to dissect later in favor of completing an inventory of his memories.

There had been a cage made of steel bars – where the woman had shown him what the contraptions on her wrist could do. And she had bandaged him. Cui had come and had brought them here, for what purpose, he didn't know.

The human had protected him from an orange blob with something she had made.. and.. and?

She had given him water.

He remembered nothing else. But it had been enough to make his mind whorl. He didn't know why, but as he studied her form as she slept, he felt betrayed by her. He couldn't make sense of this. One had to trust another to feel betrayed. He neither knew nor trusted this woman. He couldn't fathom why he should feel small and lost… alone… or why he felt the stab of rejection. The constant feeling of confusion irritated him and made solitude, no matter how alone he was, seem preferable. He wanted nothing from her except to be rid of her.

In fact, his presence here began with her. Radditz had gone to Earth and died there, and Vegeta had also gone to Earth and nearly followed Radditz unto death. Her weapon had wounded him – the sheer amount of power her rifle had expelled confounded him. He wasn't as strong as some, but he was stronger than most. He had bested Zarbon, even in the lizzard's hideous transformed state. True, Vegeta had almost gone above the limit of control he had with his overly-charged, wildly fluctuating ki, but he hadn't and now Zarbon was dead.

His mind took a sudden turn and he wondered. Now that he had mostly healed from such a wounded state, could he now tap into the legendary golden form? Even if he could, would he be able to control it? Or would it do as it had done to Brolly a thousand years ago? Brolly had been raised with hundreds of Saiyans to help him learn control, and yet when he had ascended, control had failed him. Vegeta had been raised with only two, and could hardly control his ki when he was powered up too high or overcome with emotion.

He sighed deeply and let the air rush out through his nose. That line of thinking was pointless, especially now, collared as he was. Instead, he continued to survey the room. The bay was enormous and swathed in darkness, but his eyes could easily discern what most could not. Likely this place was intended to be used as a rock and mineral transport; a mining ship. The walls looked to be reinforced to prevent leaks off of materials that had been exposed to the radiated vacuum of space or poisonous environment of uninhabitable planets. It was perfect for trafficking beings. If the craft were boarded to be inspected, areas such as these would be avoided because most often, these kinds of areas were contaminated.

The woman sighed again, and shifted in her sleep. His attention was pulled from examining their cage to studying her prone form. Her back had been towards him, but now she faced him. In the darkness, her coloring was bleached and monotone, but her features were clear. Under her eyelids, her eyes danced; she was dreaming. At first, the temptation to look into her mind was so natural and impulsive, he found himself deep inside her thoughts before he realized it. The alarm of this easy penetration – and the fact that he had desired to do so at all in the first place - was so intense, he fiercely pulled himself back. The withdraw was so fierce and absolute, it left him reeling. Pulled off balance, he felt ill.

Horrified, he lay there doing nothing for long minutes. What had happened while he had slept? How had his mind so completely infiltrated hers? It was as if he had somehow found every dark corner, every seam, every crack - and filled it with himself. Without the foundations of her mind, he felt his own mind falter. Looking at her sleeping, he knew she felt it, too. In her slumber, her face was scrunched up in pain, her body was tense and shaking, and her hands had spread like claws, scratching at her own skin like she was trying to tear the sensation of mental devastation away.

Furious – at her, at himself.. at everything – he reestablished a connection; the weakest one he could manage. He could and would expel himself completely, but it would take some time to do so without causing her damage. He didn't care if he hurt her, but if he pulled out too quickly, she would fight him. Even if it were unintentional, she had grown accustomed to his presence in her mind. And, if he extracted himself too quickly, her mind would scrape and slash against his while looking for footholds to keep his consciousness entwined with her own. And that would damage him.

Breathing heavily and sweating – even the slight withdraw he had managed was difficult – he put his head down to rest and tried to force his body to stop shaking. He lowered his eyebrows and pinched his nose between a thumb and finger. He shouldn't be surprised. In his wounded state, his subconscious had reached out to the only familiar mind he could find. Growling, exasperated and revolted, he stared at the ceiling. How the hell could he have even been _able _to do this? She was _HUMAN_. She wasn't even telepathic. His unconscious efforts should have broken her mind, if not killed her.

Instead, he found himself half sick with a headache that made him feel like his brain had been pulled out of his skull from his ears and left to rot in the sun. His eyes fluttered as he tried to focus through double vision to settle on the distant ceiling. When something trickled down his cheek, he wasn't surprised to see that it was blood when he brushed his nose with his fingertips. The last time he had been so tied with other minds, the ripping aftershocks of those connections being severed all at once as those minds died had nearly killed him. But he had been a very young child. His mind had been more malleable back then. He had survived and adapted, even if he had never quite recovered.

Turning his head to study the blue-haired female, he saw that her face was, if not as peaceful as before, was not crumpled in pain, either. In that moment he was afraid of and despised her because he needed her. At least for a little while – long enough to pull himself free.

He turned his back to her and tried to sleep. After minutes of failure, he grudgingly flipped back to face her. He stayed like this for many minutes, unmoving and breathing deeply. When he could stand the restlessness no longer, he tentatively, gently pushed at her mind with his own and closed his eyes.

She was dreaming about sunshine.


	16. Chapter 16

She had never thought herself short. In fact, on Earth, she could have made a run for her money as a super model with her perfect curves, long legs, narrow waist - and her _height_, even without high heels. But compared to the monstrously sized aliens who towered above her, and likely outweighed her by hundreds of pounds, she felt utterly miniscule. She hardly stood to the elbow of a good number of these oddly shaped, creepy colored, bizarrely appendaged extra-terrestrials. She was terrified of being squashed between the sea of moving bodies. Thank God she was nimble and that the sheer press of bodies prevented anyone from moving at ridiculous speeds she couldn't hope to match. And, she supposed, she was "small" enough that she could actually squash herself between the angular, negative spaces left from bony protrusions, scaly hides, and horned spikes. Hopefully she wouldn't get impaled on someone's harpoon-like thing or sliced on someone else's – whatever _those_ were.

As the swarm of bodies shuffled towards the exit, she tried pushing her way through legs, under tails, and around appendages. When she had awoken this morning with a headache so massive her vision was doubled and her teeth hurt, everyone had been up and moving. Looking around, she had seen the spot where the Saiyan had been the night before was empty. With her heart hammering in her throat, she had taken off in search of him, not wanting to be left behind. Part of her considered it may be to her benefit that he had left her. But something deep and primal inside her – something she had never known before and would never have trusted a year… a _week_ ago – had screamed that her life depended on finding the Saiyan.

Every moment that passed was another moment panic grew. She didn't question that despite all she had survived so far, she couldn't make it alone. Even if she managed to live… she knew everything that made her fundamentally who she was could – would – disappear if she were on her own. With no one besides herself for checks and balances, she'd start with small compromises; telling herself she could accept something just one time, or that it was ok if something she did or didn't do were the lesser of two distasteful evils. But eventually, more and more often, she would sacrifice morality for survival until there was nothing of herself left. Broken soul, shattered mind, empty of humanity and hope, she wouldn't even able to mourn the losses of those things.

She wanted to remember the feel of sunlight on her face; Earth's perfect, life-giving, golden warmth. She could fight, she could hope – she could _be _– with nothing but the memory of blazing sunsets painted on the sky behind her closed eyelids.

But she had to find the Saiyan. If she could become his conscience, whether or not he wanted her to be, she'd remember what it was to be human; she would stay herself and eventually – she could fight back. Though he would do everything he could to resist and ruin her, she had felt that lost and lonely beast; stunted, frightened, and crying like a child, crushed beneath the weight of darkness thrust upon his soul. It was enough for her to hope there may be goodness in him, even if he didn't know it himself. If she could be there to teach him what it was to feel with a human heart – hers, since he wasn't human – she could live as well as just survive. And maybe, so could he.

She had no idea what she was doing, no clue why she was risking everything for a frail inspiration. She was going on malformed impressions born from a half-dead Saiyan's buried childhood fear, only shared with her accidentally during a time of pseudo consciousness. She couldn't even be sure they were his. It was possible that she had projected her own desperation and fear into something she could hang onto. It was all she had to work with, and true or not, she fought with everything within her to keep it. Hope meant life, even if that hope was false.

Besides, giving up would cut her more deeply than desperation and fear ever could.

Just then, there was a disturbance ahead of her. She couldn't see had was happened at the source, but the effects were rippling back through the stream of bodies in the form of pushing bodies and jabbing extremities. When the scuffling and prodding reached her, she was no match in size or strength to resist and was forced to the ground. Like a stampede, the horde of aliens plodded over her not seeing, or, more likely, not caring that she was there. A scream both erupted from her throat as it was choked off when a plated foot kicked her in the side, causing her to roll – painfully – towards the thickest element of the surging crowd.

Like a pinball, she was bounced and flung from foot to hoof. With her arms trying to feebly protect her head, and curled as tightly against herself as she could, she mentally scoffed that likely, she was being used purposefully in this manner, as if they really were playing such a game. More than once she felt her bones crack under the weight of so many passers-by as they stepped on her, and several times her consciousness faltered just to be snapped back when something scathingly painful pulled her from the brink of darkness.

She hardly noticed when something gripped her by the neck and flung her to the far wall. The contact was like a vacuum, sucking the air from her lungs as her ribs cracked against its hardness. She crumpled to the floor, and though she struggled to move, her strength felt like it was being pulled through a garden hose with a kink half way through the line. She was only able to sit up with her back against the wall when her blurry eyesight settled on him.

Though the crowd surged around him, he stood statuesque and unmoving, like an immovable boulder in the middle of a rushing river. Everyone broke around him to either side though he put no effort into directing their paths. Every so often, he would momentarily disappear behind the body of an alien passing by. He didn't seem to notice anything around him – though he faced her, his attention was focused downward. Slowly, as if he had known precisely where her eyes would be waiting, he raised his head and looked at – in – her.

Like waves parting before him, he moved towards her unscathed by the alien horde. He stopped when he stood directly before her. She tilted her head to look up at him as he tilted his to the side as if looking at a curious creature with keen but detached interest. Her lower lip trembled in time with her breath, but her eyes remained dry. Like they were once again in the alleyway, he crouched so that his weight was balanced on the balls of his feet. He peered at her, his face pulled into a strange cross between bafflement and exasperation.

His voice flowed over his tongue in something that would have sounded soothing if it weren't for a brief scowl that punctuated the end. When she didn't respond, he stood and glared down at her. Repeating his words more harshly, but still strangely gentle, he glared down at her. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear it. She couldn't be certain – her head was throbbing worse now than it had been when she had awoken – but something from deep within her mind flared. She frowned. The thought seemed to come from the center of her brain – like it had popped from _nothing_ into _something_. It wasn't a voice as she may have expected to be; it was more like a powerful urge that spread throughout her mind in such a way it felt like her head was being squeezed from the inside out.

_Stand up_.

She found herself responding without ever having made the decision to do so. Nonetheless, she struggled to stand using the wall behind her for support. Before she had fully recovered, his eyes had quickly surveyed her and he had nodded once. Whether it was directed towards her or at himself, she didn't know, but the thought floated away as he turned away from her and stepped into the crowd. She threw herself from the wall and rushed to follow. He was larger than her, more powerfully built and likely outweighed her by a hundred pounds or more, but stood only inches taller; she didn't know how he could so gracefully and effortlessly navigate through the mass of bodies.

Looking at his back as he moved forward, she realized that no, he wasn't navigating. Everyone else was moving out of his way. It was subtle – but it was true. By the time he approached anyone, they had moved just enough to be out of his way. _Telepathy on me, yes. But he can do that on so many at once? _She wondered. She wet her cracked and bleeding lips with her tongue. Most of the damage had been done by his teeth, but there were several new cuts among those healing. She ignored the pain and pushed herself to move faster. He may have prevented her from being trampled, but he certainly wasn't waiting for or helping her now. She practically had to run to stay behind him before the bodies of aliens he left in his wake collapsed back on her.

After a while, she noticed that they had been off the ship for some time. The corridors were as dark off ship as they had been on, and it took almost more concentration than she was capable of to notice that they walls surrounding them were actually rock. The dim light came from a glowing, organic-looking substance clinging to the craggy stones. The air seemed cooler, thicker, and much more humid. Her skin began to pebble despite the lack of draft. It smelled musty and wet, and the ground beneath her feet seemed to slope downwards. If she didn't know better, she'd believe they were in a cavern carved from centuries of exposure to water.

There was another disturbance ahead. Quickly, she huddled as closely as she dared against the Saiyan's back and braced herself. There was no jostling this time, though, and as they moved forward, she saw why. There were a group of aliens – including three of the four who had abducted her from Earth – up ahead who were separating everyone into groups. All the larger aliens were directed to go one way, and all those who seemed diminutive in comparison to the goliaths - like her - were directed to go another way. So, categorized by size had been her assumption until the Saiyan was directed to go one way – and she another.

Her heart fell into her feet. It didn't matter how much she feared his fierce eyes, stern face, and angry demeanor. He had already saved her once. Even if his purposes were completely selfish, they had served her equally selfish purposes – to stay alive. As she was being herded in the opposite direction, she watched him walk further and further away and panicked.

"I'm supposed to go with that group!" She struggled and tried to push against those forcing her to move in the wrong direction. Fumbling to open her cargo pocket, she pulled out the energy pistol and pointed it at the slug-looking creature preventing her from moving the direction she wanted to go. When he – it? – didn't stop pushing her, and instead shoved the very arm holding the pistol at its face – or at least the globular protrusion in which its eyes emerged - she accidentally pulled the trigger.

Time slowed right before it exploded.

The orange eye stalk was torn off in the energy blast of her pistol and arced through the air. It hit the alien she recognized as apple-something in the chest before it plopped to the floor like a worm spouting purplish, steaming goo. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the goriness but somehow, found that her vision had tilted and instead of looking down at the severed eye, she was looking up at the cave ceiling.

All at once, she found herself pinned to the rocky, cold ground while trying to futilely protect her face with arms that were already fractured in several places. She wreathed on the ground as again and again agony seared her flesh. Lash after lash bit her. She didn't know what the whip was made of; it both scalded and flash froze her skin, but worst of all, she felt her life drain away every time the sizzling crack came into contact with her. It was literally sucking the life out of her.

And then – nothing. It took her an excruciating minute more to realize she was no longer being struck, though the sounds of her screaming still filled her ears. They only quieted when she ran out of strength to pull in more air. Trembling and full of fear, she tried to drag herself away but only succeeded in flopping on her side. Through the blurriness of her vision, she saw her unlikely savior. Again.

Standing over her was the Saiyan. Wrapped around the arm held defensively in front of him was the crackling length of the energy whip – but the only apparent pain he suffered was the promise burning in his eyes; a challenge to those before him, daring them to provoke his fury. The purple one –Appule she remembered – grinned widely and nodded to the mass of jelly that now had only one eye. He spoke – in English – likely for her benefit alone.

"If she wants to join the side meant for the strong, let her learn it is a mistake on her own." The orange blob-creature undulated a slimy appendage in response, and the whip let go of its prize and retreated. The purple parasite looked down at her with predatory glee. "You see.. had you done as you were supposed to, you'd be in comfort with your peers. Now instead of escaping pain while you are enhanced…" He grinned ferally at her. "You may not even survive the changes."

Glaring at the Saiyan, he bowed, spread his arms, and stepped back - a clear statement that they would not receive further resistance.

The Saiyan stood motionless a few moments longer, glaring at Appule in wary suspicion. Upon the submissive bow, he hissed with unmistakable distrust. Yet, when everyone had seemed to purposefully forget him in favor of conducting their business, he relaxed his stance just enough to shift his stance and look down at her. He spit something intelligible at her. She didn't know if he spoke words or if they were just angry Saiyan sounds, but she was too choked with relief to care. Such was the sudden and absolute retreat of her remaining strength that she lay boneless on the ground, half laughing and half crying in shock. She didn't want to consider the alien's taunting words to her. _Changes? Enhancements? What the fuck?_

She didn't know how she found the strength to stand, but she wasn't going to test the Saiyan's patience. The moment she was on her feet, he sneered at her, turned away, and started walking. She followed, and this time, no one challenged her. It was like no one saw her. Dizzy, thirsty, stiff, sore, and exhausted, she trudged after him, forcing herself to keep going. All thoughts faded and everything fell away. Nothing existed except to stay on her feet and follow.

When he suddenly stopped, she barely registered that they were in a large cavern, not unlike the guts of the ship. Here and there, aliens dropped to the ground where they stand as if staking a claim that was to be their personal space. Understanding hit her and her relief was so great, her knees buckled under her. She pulled herself to the rocky wall and put her back to it. Panting, she looked up at the Saiyan who was watching her with a vexed expression.

She tittered, but it came out more gasp like than laughter. Wincing, she grabbed her side with one hand. The adrenaline was fading, and she was starting to acutely feel her cracked ribs, gashes, bruises, and the still hot but slowly fading lash marks. She bit her lips to swallow a moan. She hurt, but blubbering about it would do nothing but annoy the Saiyan and embarrass her.

She almost squawked, though, when he dropped to one knee before her and grabbed a handful of her hair. Sure only that she was about to receive more injuries, her heart slowly gave up its panic as he investigated. _HUH?_ But, yes – that's what he was doing. His fingers sifted the strands of her hair as if testing to see if the color could be rubbed off. That was the last straw. Her brain broke and she did the first thing that popped into her mind. She stuffed her fingers into _his_ hair. His eyes popped open in surprise, but his eyebrows quickly lowered and he barked out a quick warning growl. She raised an eyebrow and frowned at him in challenge. _If you can do it, buddy, so can I. Even though I'm scaring the shit out of myself right now…_

His growl became trite, and it finally gave up on itself and was silenced – like he had accepted her action but wouldn't admit it. Probably because denying her curiosity would prove that his own was distasteful. Softly smiling, she allowed herself to actually feel the texture of his hair.

"It's soft!" She exclaimed quietly, genuinely surprised.

"Ss-schoffft-t" he whispered, still enamored with the color of her curls.

"I thought your hair would be rough. Like Goku's." Her eyes were snagged from his hair down to his face just as he pulled away, sneering. Then she flinched when she realized he had just spoken to her in English. Or had tried to. And she had ruined it by mentioning –

"Why don't you like Goku?"

He sucked in air between his teeth and turned his face away. A moment later, he shifted his gaze and focused on her from the corner of his eye. He spoke slowly and softly, as if she could distinguish the words if he spoke in such a way. She fought a wave of dizziness. Her body was drained and she wanted nothing but sleep, but her mind was spinning. She fingered the capsule bracelet on her wrist as was her habit, but mourned the loss of her pistol. And this strange Saiyan suddenly wanted to talk to her.

She forced her eyes open and focused on the alien before her. Somehow, she thought she understood what he was trying to say. Not the words – but… he was so regal. And Goku was… Goku. She blinked lazily at him.

"So Goku isn't important like you."

He cocked his head at her. Taking that as encouragement, she chewed her lip as she thought.

"You're a leader of some kind? A general?"

He crossed his arms.

"I suppose not, then. At least, that's not all you are, is it? If your whole planet is full of warriors, generals must be fairly common."

He stretched out on his side and leaned against the wall opposite her. She'd have thought they were lucky to find a carved spot in this cave – one with two complete sides and part of a third – but she supposed it was left for the Saiyan. People seemed to give him wide berth. Even when injured, she thought wryly.

"I can't see democracy being very popular on a world where strength trumps everything else – any kind of politics seem farfetched, actually, so an elected president is out." Something clicked. _Oh_.

"A King, then?"

Nothing changed, but she suddenly sensed he was heavily focused on her words. Had he understood? Something in her mind shifted and she felt pressure. Oh. He was invading her brain again, shifting through the thoughts and pictures there to interpret what she meant. She'd be offended that he could presume to do so, but she couldn't be bothered about it now. She'd just resurrect her mental barriers when she had more energy. Instead, she calmed her thoughts and allowed the sensations to float up to her. Why this was so difficult, she couldn't fathom. Sharing thoughts before had been so easy, they had been doing so accidentally. What was different? Trying to open her mind now to him seemed forced - like she was opening a door that resisted.

So, she relaxed and tried to let it come. Forcing it wasn't helping. After drifting a minute or so, she almost fell asleep – but jolted awake when a thought popped into her consciousness, surprising her so much she started to laugh. She opened her eyes and grinned at the confused Saiyan.

"I'd been thinking of you as a prince in distress. I never actually thought you were a _real _Prince!" She giggled, but swallowed her mirth when he scowled at her. As if suddenly reminded that she was human baggage he neither wanted nor could tolerate, he stood. Narrowing his eyes, he scowled down at her in obvious disgust. Looking up at him, watching as his expression changed from curiosity to be replaced by anger and vexation, she remembered who he was and just how little her worth was to him. She knew what he was thinking perfectly just then.

She didn't know why he had come back for her, either.

But…. It didn't matter.

He had come back.


	17. Chapter 17

His only intent had been to ensure the human survived long enough so that he could extract his mind completely from hers. He hadn't thought he'd be required to interfere directly to do so; the female had seemed fully capable of taking care of herself – and, he admitted begrudgingly, of him. Yet he had found himself save her not once but _twice _in the course of an hour_. _Was she really so fragile?

He sighed as he studied her sleeping form for the second time in two days. It hadn't taken her long to fall asleep. Or, unconscious to be more accurate. He had been about to turn away from her and scout his new environment – it would be foolish to be unaware of his surroundings when forced to share living space with some of the most powerful beings in the known universe – when her mind had simply… fallen away. He wasn't sure if it was surprise or alarm that gripped him, but either way he had immediately turned back towards her and found himself searching for signs of life. She breathed shallowly and her heart beat was soft, but steady – almost like the flutter of smoldering paper wings he had seen once on a fire moth; the insect fed on ash until it cocooned, then it lie dormant, sometimes for years, until touched with flame. It then hatched fully grown, flying on delicate, flammable wings. When they caught on fire, they burned in several stages and in impossible colors until the heat would consume all but the body of the moth. It would burst then, allowing its spore to drift on the wind to start the cycle again.

He shook his head to dislodge the imagery. She was alive and the only thing she had in common with a moth from a fire planet was that odd blue color that infused her hair and those strange, all-seeing eyes. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to turn away. Still, he glanced over his shoulder at her as he moved away. _Ridiculous female._ _You will not perish until I've decided you shall do so. _He didn't expect her to answer, but when he found himself listening to the part of his mind that he had shoved her into, isolated, and fortified against breech, he withdrew his awareness and slammed the door shut.

The caves were dim, but there was something organic glowing in the crags of the rock. Likely they were microscopic colonies of bacteria - or something similar - that ingested and processed parts of the stone and produced an illuminating chemical as a waste product. Where their clusters grew in size and number, he followed them, and finally, he found what he was looking for. Water. It was a rock pool; not the stream he had been seeking. Ah, well. In caves, following water didn't always lead to a way out. Sometimes it lead deeper into the rock. He frowned at the dead end, but tucked the knowledge and location of the pool into a corner of his mind before he turned back the way he had come.

On his return, he heard scuffling ahead – not unlike the sound his own boots made against the gravel of the cave floor. Pressing himself into a crevasse, he waited. Instinct told him when to attack. In one, fluid movement, he was behind a much larger alien. Using speed and flexibility, Vegeta leapt onto a half crumbling boulder and used it to launch himself onto the back of the towering brute in front of him. The beast hadn't even had time to become aware of his impending demise until it was already too late. With very little sound, Vegeta had secured the alien's head in an arm bar and used his own momentum and weight to force their bodies to the ground. By the time they landed, the alien's neck was broken. As Vegeta stood, he paused long enough to ensure the thing on the ground was in fact dead. Hefting the enormous carcass over his shoulder wasn't as difficult as it might have been a week before – even without his ki – and the Saiyan smirked. At least Earth hadn't been a total waste. The increase in his strength was as pleasing to him as it was surprising. He let go of the alien and allowed the size and weight of the body to respond to gravity. As it fell into the pit, it disappeared into darkness.

After disposing of the evidence – not that he feared discovery of his deed, but rather the discovery of his secret rock pool if a herd of aliens started investigating why one of their numbers had died here – he allowed himself to experiment with his new strength. He ran, jumped, hurtled rocks and raced to catch them before they shattered and made noise. He only reigned in his play when he came within a few hundred meters of the main cavern. He was pleased to see he wasn't breathing hard. He wouldn't really be able to test his strength until he got this collar off.. and he was certain it would come off. He just had to be patient. He considered that with her intelligence with alien technology, the woman may even be able to remove it.

He smiled at the thought and made his way closer to where he had left her sleeping. He had chosen a well-protected niche telling himself that, if he was going to be forced into protecting her over the next day or so until he could be free of her mental influence, he may as well make it easy on himself. And so, as he came to the spot he knew she had occupied and found it empty of her, his first reaction was to be irritated. Didn't the stupid female have the sense to stay put where he had left her? He wasn't going to go searching for her. Incensed, he threw himself to the ground and forced the thought of her from his mind. It took minutes more to calm himself enough to sleep. It wasn't until he awoke hours later and she was still gone that he realized he couldn't sense her mind.

After days of this, he was going mad. His senses were reeling with strain despite his constant efforts to pull back. He shouldn't be having this difficulty. His mind wasn't so invested, any longer; they were mostly separated, now. He wouldn't need another mind likely for months, now that he had used hers to fortify his own during his recovery. Yet he couldn't deny that he felt stretched tight and his anger grew. It was a mystery not unlike Radditz's scouter. Only this time, it wasn't just the burning need to _know_ – his anger was so palpable he physically felt on the cusp of rupture. Had she found a way to escape? Had she wandered off and been killed? His mind was teetering back and forth from being on the edge of his control to blowing up against the fucking walls. Why couldn't he sense her? Was he half crazed because she had died and left him without a mental foundation before he was ready?

He had done everything he could for distraction. The number of aliens had declined by half a dozen. Those bodies he hadn't bothered to hide. Instead of inviting more aliens to assert their dominance over the obvious alpha, though, it had the opposite effect. No matter how he goaded, who he challenged, fewer and fewer – and finally none – would provide him with a proper fight. Or any fight at all, for that matter. His sleep was troubled, he was barely eating.

When he found her, he'd kill her.

That's what he told himself – until the moment he found her.

Rather, she just appeared - back in the very spot he had left her in days ago, like she had never been missing. She was… different. Barely conscious as she had been, but now, everything was just… _wrong_. Her scent was the same but not. She looked like the color had been drained from her. Even her hair was lifeless and limp, more grey than blue. Her skin was mottled and every vein was clearly visible. They made spider webs against the canvas of paper thin, pale flesh. She shivered uncontrollably with a frame that appeared shrunken and drawn. It wasn't until she opened her eyes that he saw the full horror of what she suffered. Never had the whites of her eyes been so apparent; the blue of her irises made the sclera irrelevant. But now, they were not white. Instead, they were the deep red of ruptured capillaries spilling blood. Her head fell to the side and he saw that blood flowed from out of her ears as well. And then it came from her nose.. followed by her mouth. She was falling apart from the inside out right in front of his eyes. And he had no idea why.

Pacing back and forth, his tail an agitated whip behind him, he glanced at her every so often, his eyes taking in every new bruise, laceration, or newly patch of hair that fell from her head. At a loss, his mind reached out to hers, gently.. softly.. to see if the damage had spread that far. When she shrieked in agony, forcing him to his knees as his own mind answered in an agony of its own, he decided what to do. He pounced on and lifted her frail form into his arms. He traced the path he had taken that first day until he found the rock pool. The humidity in the cavern separated the cold water from the warmer air, and an ethereal fog spread thinly over the pond.

He dropped himself over an edge of rocks and entered the pond. The bite of cold water was just shocking enough that he tightened his muscles, causing his hold on her to tighten. When she moaned in pain, he remembered she was there and what they were doing. He blinked – he remembered making the decision to bring her here, but he hadn't been aware of carrying her all this way. Clenching his jaw, he looked down at her as he lowered her into the water. Her eyes flew open as the chill pierced her to the bone. She stiffened, but didn't resist. Instead, as he submerged her almost reverently into the water, she continued to look through the waves and into his eyes.

Part of him distantly wondered why, for the first time in his life, he felt regret when he was killing out of mercy rather than malice.

She reached a hand through the water's glass surface and touched his face. In that moment, a fire exploded behind his eyes and his vision splintered again and again until he could see nothing but darkness. His consciousness rippled and folded in on itself before being violently flung outward. He felt weightless in body but also heavy as his ki bubbled from the pit of his gut and spilled over. Sight began to return in the form of splintering light shards piercing his brain, and the pressure in his skull was immense. Quaking, he wasn't sure if his body would be able to hold itself together or if he was about to be ripped apart.

_**VEGETA!**_

And everything was sucked back into place; it was so sudden the complete change from absolute pain to nothingness was a pain unto itself. His head was thrown back, and he wasn't sure if he was alive or dead. Looking up, he could still see a borealis of lights flickering and he realized, looking down, that his ki was being reflected on the surface of the water; it danced in patterns on the ceiling and the walls around him. The shock of having ki was so sudden, he'd have thought it would wink out just to taunt him – but it didn't.

Cool fingers on the flesh of his cheek reminded him – looking through the water, he could still see her eyes looking up at him. With his heart hammering in his ears, he peered at her. She blinked, and again, her voice blossomed deep in his mind.

_Vegeta.._

Immediately, he leapt backwards out of the pool, pulling her from the water. When his back hit a wall behind him, he sat down hard and his ki flickered out like a flame extinguished. Trembling and panting, his eyes grew wide as they stared at each other. With more than a little fear, he bared his teeth at her. She spoke to him then, out loud. Though he couldn't understood her words, the echo of her thoughts in his brain made the meaning of her words quite clear.

Layer upon layer of thoughts, some more focused than others, and some just barely formed beyond an animalistic sense, her voice poured over and through the cracks of his brain.

Out of the whole mass, what nearly broke him was her overwhelming, desperate desire to live. How could she want - ? Was she so strong? To want to live when her planet was gone, her people gone, and her life…

Completely drained, he sat holding her until long after they had dried and her shivering had been overcome by his body heat. As she drifted to sleep, he still sat in awe. His mind was still too numb for thoughts to form, and he was at the mercy of whatever feelings were left living and bouncing around inside his skull. He caught himself starting to succumb to sleep several times and jerked awake. Finally, as if the meaning of her words finally clicked, he nodded to himself. With relief, he felt himself in control again. Once a Saiyan decided on a course of action, every fiber worked towards making that course of action the sole focus until completed. It's part of what made Saiyans so deadly; such focus left no room for fear, doubt, or self-preservation.

Vegeta stood and carefully made his way back to the place where this had all started.

He hadn't found Cui, but with the reputation he had made of himself the past few days – compounded with the reputation of Saiyans in general - he got the attention he wanted after making enough noise. Now, he stood in a next door underground medical facility and laboratory not far from the cavern where he and the woman had been placed. Vegeta stared at the stick-like alien in front of him and was tempted to snap its neck like the twig it resembled. Instead, he elected to bare his teeth towards the thing instead. The threat seemed to work when the insect put up four of its arms in acquiescence. It didn't stop making excuses, though.

"We haven't prepared for her. I was told she had refused –"

Vegeta crossed his arms and peered at the doctor with half-lidded eyes. "So. Prepare for her now."

The stick blubbered. "Her DNA has been altered. I could place her in a regeneration tank, but it would be useless. As her DNA splits to include new genetic material, her cells need the foundation of her original genetic pattern to strengthen themselves enough to prevent complete collapse – but we never took unaltered samples of DNA."

Vegeta glanced down the rows of aliens in their own regen-pods. All of them 'genetically altered,' as the hunk of firewood had called it. All to enhance their minds and unlock, enable, or create ferocious telepathic capabilities. To what? Pierce the minds of those like him – fighters with phenomenal strength – and control them like they were puppets? He has scoffed. He couldn't believe it. But as he listened to twiggy, he had recalled Cui. Vegeta knew that Cui was an unstable, unfocused slug whose galactic standard was barely passable. Yet he had shown shocking control and the ability to speak the human language as well as galactic standard. Was it truly someone inside Cui's brain, controlling him that enabled such things? Would adding a second consciousness not be a handicap to a fighter who relied on instinct and senses honed over a lifetime?

Preposterous. Even if it were true, he'd never allow any to control him – to possess him like some demon parasite. He'd had practice protecting his mind from Freeza's other telepathic lackeys. He'd had recent practice keeping a certain human out, as well. If they planned on using her to control him, they'd be disappointed. He glanced behind him to the woman on a metal table and raised an appraising eyebrow. Hah. She may have discovered his name, but if they thought she'd be able to break his mind, let them try and let them fail.

Turning back to the bean sprout, he tilted his head. "Then use my DNA. Our species are…. Compatible."

"Compatible?" came the surprised, interested reply. "In what way?"

"In every way." Vegeta glared at the doctor who was peering at him with a curiosity that was entirely too personal. He rolled his eyes, unsure why he should suddenly feel embarrassed. "There has been a hybrid between our species –" When the doctor raised his eyebrows, Vegeta hastily added, "But nothing between she and I."

The doctor nodded, momentarily disappointed. It didn't take long for him to become lost in thought, though, obviously thinking of this new project. "If your species' genetics are compatible enough to breed, you should be compatible enough to allow for her cells to accept yours as fortification without rejection." He seemed to brighten. "With Saiyan DNA, she may form a few Saiyan traits. They'd be minor influences, but the implications… you are naturally telepathic, no? The possibility that mental contact between you two becoming exponentially enhanced is…why, there's no telling what changes there could be.."

Vegeta flinched and stopped listening at _Enhanced mental contact._ He was trying to expel her from his brain – not give her a bigger anchor. He almost changed his mind and was about to call out to the Stick-man, but the creature had already wandered off. Brilliant. Sighing, he turned back to the half-dead, fragile female and scowled. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Grunting at himself, he left her to wander around the lab to peer into different pods and study the occupants. So the purpose of separating the strong from the weak hadn't been to separate the weak to shelter them from the strong. It had been so they could do_.. this_. Turn freaks into bigger freaks. He scoffed. Several aliens seemed to be deteriorating; apparently not capable of adapting to genetic engineering on such a scale. Others seemed to pulse as he walked by them – as if they were mentally reaching out to him to size him up. Flexing a new sense, he decided. Like someone blind suddenly able to understand the environment using sonar. Even if a fraction of these wretched creatures survived, not many would successfully transition into telepathic beings. The sudden addition of such an ability would likely drive half of those who survived mad.

He turned and made his way back. By the time he had returned, the doctor had put the woman in a pod. The liquid within was barren, but she serenely floated within. He approached the pod and allowed Twiggy to extract as much genetic material from his arm as he wished and tried to drone out his wooden voice.

"This is quite a bit more than we took from the others. But we had time to synthesize their DNA. In this case, well. You understand."

It wasn't until he started to feel light headed and had to blink his eyes to maintain focused vision that he glared at the doctor. The doctor shrugged sheepishly and removed his contraptions.

"You can stay as long as you like. If she survives the next twelve hours, her cells have accepted your genetic contribution and she will start to heal as well as adapt to the new genetic manifestations. I'm uncertain how long she must remain in the pod, but judging by those who have already been removed from their pods, she will remain weak until she fully adapts, regardless."

Vegeta held up his hand to cut the doctor off. He wasn't interested in the details. If the woman survived, she survived. And if she did live – even if his DNA made her stronger – she'd always be weak. He peered at her as she floated in the tank. Putting his hand against the glass surface, he touched her mind. She was still in pain, but it seemed to fade as the liquid in the pod – fused with is DNA – penetrated her cells. He lingered briefly to ensure she was stable, but was distracted by the visuals of her dreaming. Sunshine again. He looked at her face and considered her before retreating from her thoughts.

Nodding at the doctor, he turned to leave. "If she lives, she will be returned to me. I'll not have anyone playing with her mind." Vegeta didn't bother to turn around to see the reaction on the doctor's face. He didn't need to explain himself.

He didn't want to reveal that in altering her mind, they risked fucking with his. Even if that was the purpose of this asinine experiment.


	18. Chapter 18

He came back to the cavern after participating in what could only be considered "training." It seemed the rock they lived in was actually, literally, a rock. One of thousands in an asteroid belt. The atmosphere outside of the deep, winding caves was abysmal. The further away from the tunnels one went, the harsher and colder it became. There would be no escape from this place. Yet he and twelve other aliens from various caverns were directed out of the safety of the rocks to the unforgiving, frigid blackness outside. His training had consisted of testing his skills against the other warriors while avoiding radiation, exposure, low oxygen, and pitiful gravity. It had been excruciating, terrifying, and brutal. Half of the battle had been overcoming his own dread – the tiniest mistake would cost him a horrid death that was most unwarrior-like - while the other half had been overcoming his opponents. All twelve of them… all at once. Of the thirteen, he was the only to return to the safety of the rocky depths.

The whole experience had been unequivocally, unconditionally, absolutely the most thrilling battle he had ever known. And the most ruthless.

He wanted only to get warm again and sleep. His bones felt as though they would shatter with every step. Even the miniscule gravity increase deeper in the caves made his joints ache. The heavier air weighed down on him and made him feel like his skin would split and flop off his body. The absolute sensation and perspectives of having a ceiling tell him which way was up and a ground to show him where down was confused his vision, and he found his head tilt to the left as his balance listed to the right. His lungs crunched as every breath expelled ice crystals. Even his blood felt sluggish in his veins. Never in his life had he felt so eager for the nothingness of dreamless unconsciousness.

So when he arrived to his corner of the cave and saw _her_ asleep in_ his_ spot, he was literally awestruck as emotions exploded in every direction. The sensation was so alien to him and his exhaustion so complete, he was left to the devices of his animal side, conscious thought beyond his capability. So many things he direly wanted all at once, things he _needed_, he was left rooted in place and quaking in desperate indecision. He wanted to tear her flesh and crush her bones just to feel her hot blood squish in his fingers as he spread it all over his face and chest. He wanted curl into a tight ball and bury himself inside her chest cavity, kept warm and safe as her heartbeat lulled him to sleep. He wanted to expose every part of her skin and sink his teeth into its softness. He wanted to squeeze her neck and watch the life fade from her eyes.

Eyes that were innocent and open, searching him, looking through him. Was she unaware of his struggle? Of his desire to break her, own her, devour her, destroy her…No. Those wide, penetrating, burning eyes would never be so calm and trusting if she knew these things. And yet.. and yet.. He squeezed his eyes shut and his hand shot out to grip the wall for support. He would not collapse. He would not show weakness.

He thrust the wild emotions to the pit of his gut where they simmered, refusing to be fully tamed. He reached for control and when his weary mind brushed against it, he dug in and pulled with all of his might to bring it to the surface. He waited until his head stopped spinning before opening his eyes. She peered up at him, curious, and he responded by glowering at her. Now that he had a chance to study her without the animal inside him clawing to get out, he did so from under lidded eyes. She seemed… beyond real… somehow. Overwhelming. The beast he thought he had subdued shuddered with a ravenous desire to – to break. To own. To devour.

He shook his head to clear it further. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Without realizing it, he peeled his lips back and inhaled, tasting the air. The shock made him cough, dislodging more ice crystals from his lungs which caused him to suck in more air. The pungent, invasive flavor of her pheromones thickened and his body stiffened as he flinched backwards. He slammed his jaw shut with force enough that his teeth clacked. Body vibrating, he tried to expel the scent by hacking and rubbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, unaware that the gestures reminded Bulma of a cat coughing up a hairball.

When she giggled, he stopped with his tongue hanging partially out of his mouth and tried to scowl at her. Realizing his tongue was still sticking out of his lips, he pulled it into his mouth and quaked as hot rage ignited a low growl.

She sobered then, but seemed too spent to fear him properly. She fought to keep her eyes open so she could continue to watch him. Their staring game continued, each wary of the other.

Minutes later, her features twisted in pain followed by desperation. "Vegeta," she whispered, her voice thick and hoarse.

He grimaced when she said his name. The tone in her voice was too… familiar. It both enraged and thrilled him. She licked her lips and tried to speak again. "Vegeta, I have to pee…"

She struggled to sit up, but lacked the strength. Managing only to rise a few inches before collapsing several times, she finally gave up and looked up at him, her expression imploring. He frowned. He couldn't make himself believe what she had said but, logic defied him and he couldn't help thinking she really was asking that he assist her find a place to release her water. The idea in itself was so absurd he snorted with laughter, but as she continued to stare at him, he grew more suspicious. Did she actually intend that he _help_ her? He wanted nothing more than to keep his distance. Her stench breeched his senses and stretched his control. If he went any closer, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to refrain from tearing her apart. Would he even care if he did?

He blinked in response to a realization. If she lost her water here, it would contaminate his space and the air would be saturated with… _that scent_.

His frown deepened. If that happened, he would leave her here and find another place to sleep. He'd happily evict any other alien in the cavern and happily contend with whatever odors they left behind.

He crossed his arms over his chest.

"No."

She stared at him for a minute, as if trying to discern if he were seriously telling her no. Apparently, she came to the conclusion that, yes, he meant precisely what he said. She made a surprisingly convincing growling noise in his general direction, bit her lip, and tried once again to stand. She glared at him with such genuine hatred, he couldn't help smirking. When she managed to gain her footing and stumble towards the crack in the wall that led to the rock pond, he followed her – at a safe distance and breathing shallowly – just to see how complete her failure was. She was pathetically weak and could hardly find the strength to keep her eyes open – so he anticipated one of two conclusions: she'd either fall over and wet herself before making it very far, or she'd make it to a suitable secluded spot and probably wet herself, anyway, as she would most likely fall over while trying to disrobe. The inevitable exposure to the scent of her pheromone-rich urine was a sick, masochistic urge he couldn't squash. He didn't try very hard, though. Instead, he licked his lips. Nasal comfort be damned - this was just too good to miss.

He allowed her to get far enough ahead to maintain a distance his nose would agree with, but stayed close enough he could intervene should she actually fall. This portion of the path was narrow enough he had to turn his body towards the rock wall and progress sideways, using handholds to secure his weight. The woman was smaller than he, but weak enough that she, too, had to cling to the wall for balance. The ravine down which he had chucked the alien body was below them. He had no idea how he had been able to carry her passed this passage the night he had meant to kill her. Except that maybe he had leapt from one rock outcropping to the next on a secondary path adjacent to the first – but looking at the formations and the likely path he must have used to leap frog from one to the next seemed ludicrously risky while burdened – even if she did weigh next to nothing.

He made the jumps easy enough now, but it still unnerved him that he had done so before with such little concentration he didn't even remember it. Had he been that distracted before? He snorted when a landing kicked loose rocks over the side. Watching them as they disappeared into the abyss below, he almost didn't make it to the female in time to prevent her from toppling over. He still was loathe to get close to her, so instead of correcting her balance with a hand, he tipped her back to the ledge with his tail. Her wild eyes flicked over her shoulder to take in her almost-catastrophe, but she turned her head quickly back to the wall and hugged it with her body. He smirked at her fear, but the curve of his lips grew when she didn't hesitate and continued to pull her body _towards_ her goal instead of retreating. When something snagged her progression, though, he spit out a growl and snatched his tail back like it had been burned. He stared at the tip before snapping its length a few times to rid it of any lingering stench. He then wrapped it tightly around his waist as if doing so would prevent the thing from doing anything treacherous – like saving her again.

She looked over her shoulder again – this time at him – and he swallowed petulant growls he hadn't realized he had been making when he noticed she had been smiling at his expense.

Crossing his arms, he let her go ahead – she was passed the narrow ledge – and stared after her, glowering. She always seemed to be able to interpret his moods. It was infuriating. And embarrassing.

Sighing, he leapt the last few rock formations and landed softly and solid ground. This time when he followed her, he did so at twice the distance, though he was tempted to carry her just to speed things up. The silly girl was teetering at a ridiculously slow pace, likely still on her feet out of spite of him for telling her he'd not help her.

When she ducked behind a collection of boulders – finally - he stopped and waited, suddenly wondering why the hell he had followed her at all. And then…. Why the hell she hadn't been surprised he had followed her. Feeling manipulated – but uncertain how - and more than a little awkward, he turned to go back to his sleeping place. Then turned back. Several times he found himself moving in one direction just to turn around again. Frustrated, he only stopped his back and forth pacing when the obvious sound of the woman in self-made distress caught the attention of his sensitive ears. A wicked grin slid onto his face and he moved towards the sounds of the woman's squawking.

He approached, purposefully making noises as he came nearer. By the time he peered over the rocks, she had regained composure enough to have pulled her garments back into place – but by her disheveled look and wholly displeased disposition, she hadn't been fully successful in her endeavor. She confirmed it when she awkwardly admitted her humiliation.

"I peed myself," she stated flatly.

He snorted and raised an eyebrow. "And you came all this way to save yourself from exactly that," He replied.

Skipping over the remaining rocks, he brushed by her and continued to saunter towards the direction of the rock pool. When she was nearly out of sight, he glanced over his shoulder and spied her shadowy form still standing in place where he'd left her staring after him. He chuckled darkly but was choked off when he caught a whiff of her scent. Apparently, he hadn't walked far enough to escape it. "You must bathe," he forced out stiffly.

"I know that," she spat back, and moved towards him.

He leapt onto a mountain of rocks, climbed to its peak, and kept his back towards her until she passed. The rock pool was just around the corner, and he waited several very long minutes until he heard the sounds of a capsule being opened followed by water splashing before leaping to the ground. His steps were slow and tentative as he stepped around the final bend. He paused on the threshold of where stone met water - an outcrop of rock jutting from the pond's surface - where he could squat on the balls of his feet and observe from a few feet above. In the dim light of the glowing rock, the woman stood nude in the center of the tiny lake, only deep enough to conceal her to her hips. Her back was towards him and she used a small square of foamed cloth to scrub at her skin.

Bulma knew he was there when he kicked a few pebbles into the water. She knew it was a courtesy – he moved like a midnight panther on velvet paws and only made sound if he wished to do so. She wasn't bothered by his presence, but she couldn't be sure if the chills that twisted up her spine and squeezed her heart was from knowing he was watching her or if it was from the frigid water. She supposed it didn't matter – but when she turned to face him, she did so with her arms crossed over her. She wasn't shy and she _certainly_ wasn't ashamed of her nakedness – in fact, part of her wanted to defy and taunt the overbearing brute by flaunting herself without fear - but, for some reason, she felt if she covered her literal nakedness, she could somehow create a barrier for the utter feeling of mental exposure she felt. Since she had come out of that pod, her brain felt raw and stuffed – unable to filter out anything leaving her uncertain of what was foreign and what came from inside her own mind.

God. And Vegeta. She felt like she was about to burst into flames. She tried to focus on whatever flimsy mental barrier she could hide behind and looked up at him.

He perched on an overhang of rock with his head tilted, calmly studying her as if she were a bird about to take flight moments before the cat could pounce. She suddenly was reminded of the first time they had met, she cowering with her back against the wall while he dissected her with dark, alien eyes. She took a step backwards in the chill water, wondering now, as she did then, why it was so difficult to differentiate fear and arousal. Did she feel this way? Or was it him projecting the feelings into her brain? Had she ever truly felt _anything_ before? It was so grey before. And now.. every emotion had power enough to destroy her. She feared it.

But it was so _free_ to feel such pure, raw - -

She slammed the door on her ragged, uncontrolled emotions and tried to calm herself. Her breath caught in her throat, and as she had always done before when she didn't know what to think, she babbled. "W-why…" she cleared her throat and licked her lips to wet them. "Why does it look like you can't decide whether you'd rather eat me or tear me in half? Or tear me in half then eat me?"

He blinked at her once. "You smell like a Saiyan." He stated simply, his voice thick.

Confused, she was about to ask what the hell one had to do with the other when she realized he held her jeans – soaked in her urine - in his hands. Thoroughly baffled and more than a little grossed out, she watched as he brought her pants to his nose where, with parted lips, he could both inhale the smell and taste it on the air. Her scientist-brain tried to find logic in his actions. As a species that relied heavily on scent to discern…

Hell. He was an animal. And like an animal, he probably marked his territory and picked fleas out of the hair of his comrades and ate them. Yet as he progressed from smelling her jeans to burying his head in the denim to rub the scent of her pee all over his face, she tried not to gag.

Her face twisted in disgust, her voice quavered. "Uhhmm…"

He tore the jeans from his face. This time when their eyes met, she felt he more closely resembled a snake on the verge of strike. The strange way his eyes reflected the light made him seem even more beastly. And then she heard it. Or she thought she did? A strange, guttural huffing that seemed to her that it should have been too low for her to be able to hear. Morbidly fascinated, she listened to the sound and distantly wondered why the sound seemed all consuming.. compelling her to – to? She forced herself to withdraw her attention to the sound and focus on Vegeta. She didn't know how she knew, but she was certain the sound had come from him. How could she have possibly heard something so.. so sub-harmonic? Especially from this distance? And why the hell had she wanted to growl back – in what? Invitation?

More to slap herself awake than anything else, she forced herself to speak, not really paying attention to her words as she said them. "You smell like a Saiyan, but I never wanted to rub your piss all over my face."

He seemed to partially come to his senses – his rational senses – and glowered at her. Throwing her jeans aside, his eyes burned like two glowing embers in the dimness, scorching holes into her soul.

"You are in heat." He said between clenched teeth.

Oh.

If she hadn't already peed, she'd have done so now. At least she knew why he was staring at her like she was a steak. Would she be served with or without a side of _are you shitting me_? She looked towards the heavens, though her view was blocked by the cavern ceiling. Maybe that pest namek, Kami, would hear her and take pity. Her lips twisted in irony. Who was she kidding? The ass hole was probably on his lookout at this minute, on his back laughing at her.

_Fuck me! _she thought.

She jumped, her attention snatched from her thoughts by the Saiyan when he violently flinched, his expression – if possible – becoming even more wild and heated. He dropped from the rocks into the water and was on her before she could think. She could only squawk in reaction as she found herself suddenly thrown against the far rock wall. Thrust out of the water and held up by her throat, the only way for her to support her weight was to wrap her legs around the hips of the feral Saiyan. There was no room to struggle, her entire body was pinned by his. She froze. If she had felt like a bird or a mouse before, there was no word to describe how she felt now. His body radiated heat and it was no surprise to her when his ki flared to life, causing his collar to hum. The aura around him dimmed in response, but refused to submit.

His grip around her neck tightened as he lifted her higher, breaking the hold of her legs on him. Gasping and trying to wiggle to gain release – or at least a chance to take in much needed air – she didn't pay much attention to the Saiyan's actions. That abruptly changed when he threw one of her legs over a shoulder to both prevent her wrapping it around his waist and to force her hips into an alarming position near his face. Holding her firmly in place, he buried his nose in the junction between her thighs and inhaled deeply. That strange, chuffing growl echoed in his chest again, vibrating against her sensitive flesh.

Resisting the beguiling sensation the sound invoked in the pit of her gut, she acted on panic and warring instincts that told her to be both afraid and aroused. She twisted her hips just as his tongue darted between his lips to taste her. Not in the least thwarted by his near miss, he changed his intent at the last moment and bit deeply into the meat of her groin muscle. An electric snap jolted through her spine and sizzled throughout her body just as his collar crackled and sparked, leaving her reeling with a pleasure magnified by pain.

She focused on the sharp sting of electric snapping that popped from his collar to hold herself from the brink of total submission. Clinging to fear as if it were a life line, she blindly, desperately battered at his thoughts, looking for cracks in the pure beauty of his animalistic mind. With every snap and spark, the collar failed to contain the rise of his ki energy, and both his aura and her pain grew. When the agony of electrocution grew powerful enough to distract even Vegeta, he pulled back just enough to notice the shuttering, whimpering, sweat slicked woman he held. Confused, he tried to pull his fragmented thoughts into cohesion. Violence and the lust of sex and blood still screamed in his veins, but the sparking of his collar that pulsed in time with his heart beat kept him from losing himself. Wanting nothing more than to continue to bite and lick and suck and taste and bury himself in scent and warmth and blood and sex, he clamped his jaw tight and did the only thing a Saiyan can do when disoriented and half mad with an uncertain, displaced emotion. He pulled his rage to him and drank from its limitless pool.

Looking up at the wide, shining eyes of the ethereal blue haloed human, his focus burned on the feel of her mind as it fluttered around his own. It pierced his defenses with frightening ease, and his senses were flooded with her own twisted version of his war – only she was trying to use fear to force her arousal away from her and not the fury he used to feed or drown his lusts. Strangely, both of their wars had the same effect; just as anger augmented his lust for sex, so did her fear despite her attempt for the opposite. He bared his teeth in partial disgust. What a cowardly lie to tell oneself to escape an unwanted emotion. Unless –

- Unless she was aware that her fear augmented her lust and she was using it to _enflame_…

Growling dangerously from the pit of his chest, his eyes nailed her in place just as equally as his hand still around her throat. His voice was so low and guttural, it was almost a whisper. "Am I your enemy?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "Nn – No."

He brought her to eye level. Their faces were so close, his eyes almost blended into a single, enflamed orb floating millimeters from her own. He took in a breath through an open mouth, and she could hear the thickness of her blood that coated his throat when he spoke again. "Then why do you fear me?"

She hadn't realized that she had been holding her breath until she let it go in a sudden rush. She felt oddly detached from herself and for a brief moment, and felt she were looking at herself as though she were the Saiyan. His raw, untamed feelings, so focused and intense…. When she heard herself say, "Why do you enjoy making me feel fear?" she even felt his amusement. Never once could she find the true fear they spoke of. It was like… it didn't exist. At least – that's how she felt up until the moment he released his hold on her. Both the one on her neck and the one inside her head. Or was she inside his head?

Her fear fluttered in her chest halfheartedly as he backed away from her. This time he looked at her with a mocking half grin, as though he understood something now and he was playing with her. She frowned and tried to cling to and amplify her fear. Instead, it puttered out as though bored and refused to return. More unnerved by this than by the Saiyan, she watched as he pulled himself out of the water on the far side of the small pond. He returned to his perch on a pile of rocks and turned to observe her, a slight curve to his lips.

Beyond cold and feeling extremely exposed, she eventually followed him but stopped before exiting when he cocked his head at her and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" She spat.

His laughter died when he scowled. "You very nearly tempted your own death, little female."

Her jaw dropped open, but she closed her mouth when she realized she didn't know what she wanted to say. Sputtering, and with several false starts, she finally decided she had to pick something to say because she couldn't ask all she wanted all at once. So she chose the easiest. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He peered intently at her for a moment before averting his eyes. He looked… almost embarrassed… before reverting back into a blanket of anger and accusation.

"Did you not demand that I _fuck_ you?" The emphasis on the word _fuck_ was evidence of his unfamiliarity, but his understanding of its meaning was quite clear. If she had doubt, it vanished with his next words.

"It is what this human word means, yes? To service your physical need in your time of estrus? I responded -"

"You _HEARD_ that? How did you hear that? I wasn't talking out loud! How did you even know what that word meant?"

His eyebrows lowered and he blinked at her as though she were as dumb as the rocks he was standing on. "Do you think now that I speak in your tongue? Or you in mine?"

She chewed her lip and considered his words. How he had said them. Staring at him, she concluded that yes, he was still speaking in a very alien language. And she was speaking English. Yet they understood each other perfectly. It had started the day he had tried to drown her and had only become more clear since that time. Once she had returned from the healing pod – where she learned he had taken her – communication was so effortless she hadn't even noticed. Was it because of the telepathy she was supposed to have now? Or because Saiyan DNA made the connection they already had stronger?

He saw the moment of clarity on her features and snorted. He stood and deftly kicked her jeans into the water, his face turned away as though the garment were contaminated. His point was evident. Wash them. She plucked them from the water sheepishly with the intent to do just that. He watched her for a moment before sighing deeply.

"I am unable to control my ki when.." he paused to consider his words. His eyes found hers, and despite their lazy, unconcerned look, her stomach turned to jelly.

He smiled. "…when overly stimulated," he finished.

"That didn't stop you, though, did it," she replied, breathily.

His grin widened. "I felt it worth the risk at the time."

His grin faded and his expression became stony. After a moment he stood.

"You will learn to control your telepathy, woman. Despite my efforts, it seems I cannot keep you out of my head, nor can I prevent being sucked into yours." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger briefly before sneering. "I will teach you mental discipline. I care not else for or about you. After you extract yourself from my mind, you will extract yourself from my presence then and thereafter. Situations like this can thus be prevented."

When she nodded numbly, he turned from her and walked around the bend to wait for her to finish washing. She was still weak and healing, and once the adrenaline of – his attentions - faded, she'd be even more exhausted and weak. It wouldn't do for her to fall into the crevice and die on her return to their.. _her_.. sleeping place.

Despite what he had said, he knew with excruciating certainty that even were he able to fully separate their minds, it was likely too late for his mind to recover and return to the way it had been before she had corrupted it.

He could feel her perceptions and emotions poisoning him. It frightened him – but it alarmed him more at how little he was frightened by her taint…. and the part of him that was indifferent to separating her mind from his own was growing.


	19. Chapter 19

The next few days were full of training on the asteroid for Vegeta. She didn't know what he did out there beyond that, except that the part of her mind that was _him _was saturated with violently fluctuating bestial emotion. She felt spikes of triumph and moments of something that had to be a twisted thrill because she couldn't quite swallow that the Saiyan would feel terror of any sort. Most of all, though, she felt a deep, bone penetrating chill and an ache in her chest as though she couldn't breathe.

She supposed this was what she was supposed to sense. When the Saiyan was training outside, she was training as well. The stick insect who had initially woken her from the regen pod had retrieved her – or at least, had her retrieved and brought to him. She and others she assumed received similar genetic alterations were brought to a central location for mental exercises. The first time she had come, she had been morbidly curious; it seemed those like her, of which there were surprisingly few she discovered, shuffled to work stations full of electronics. When she was brought to one she assumed would be for her use, she refused to sit in the center console. It reminded her of a dentist chair, but that wasn't what filled her with distaste. She had seen some of the others as she had passed, and didn't want all the tubing and wires plunged through various surfaces and orifices. She was flesh and blood, not some hybrid human-machine. All the others seemed zombie like, even when not plugged in. Frankly, she was frightened that she would no longer be herself if she gave in.

She was dumbfounded when her refusal lasted no more than seconds before the arrival of – the name 'Twiggy' kept popping into her mind for some asinine reason; despite the resemblance to a stick, she felt the doctor looked more like a bug. He closed the curtain and raised four of his six arms to placate her. She wasn't sure why, she hadn't even begun to throw a fit.

She scowled at him. Stick or bug, he was still a simpering asshole more interested in fucking around with his experiments rather than giving a shit about the guinea pigs he was fiddling with. She wanted nothing more than to squash him. "If you expect me to cooperate, prepare to be sourly disappointed."

She realized something. "How do you expect to compel me to control Vegeta, anyway? Assuming I wanted to and even could?"

She wasn't sure, but she thought Twiggy's twin gargantuous mantis-like eyes rolled nervously. He parted the curtain and peered in every direction before closing it and turning back to face her. It took her a moment to realize that the sounds of sticks rubbing against each other was his voice. She crinkled her brows in abject confusion.

"WHAT?" She said loudly, quite on purpose.

She got the reaction she wanted when the bug squirmed in obvious discomfort, even if he was a disgusting over-sized germ with no facial expression. Amused, she smirked and crossed her arms. When he produced a contraption and spoke again, she twisted her lips wryly and sighed. So much for the language barrier to assist her attempts to avoid cooperating. Her attention was drawn to the bug's antennae. They wiggled when he spoke. She was tempted to yank on one, but really didn't want to touch it. It somehow reminded her of the slug's orange and purple eye stalk she had shot off – was that a week ago? Or two?

The doctor's wooden voice was translated, and she couldn't help but tense.

"The others were prepared for genetic transition. We were able to extract unaltered DNA for use in assisting recovery. This you know. What you do not know is… we altered it."

Bulma furrowed her brow. "I thought the whole point of reintroducing the unaltered DNA for cell structure support was that it was _unaltered_."

His antennae undulated so much, she got the impression it was his way of showing agitation. "It was only slightly altered. You see-" His mandibles stretched open wide for a moment – not unlike someone chewing their lip as they thought for words she surmised.

"To answer your question, we _are _compelling the others to cooperate. We introduced an addiction to a substance. The addiction is on the genetic level to ensure total compliance. The substance produces a euphoric sensation. When the subject complies with our wishes, the drug-like substance dosage is increased. When the subject strays from specific instructions, the drug is reduced. If the level of drug ever drops below a certain amount, the subject experiences excruciating pain and eventual death."

Bulma stared wide eyed at the monster in front of her, her mouth dry. When she failed to respond, the doctor continued.

"This way, we ensure loyalty of our controllers because they, too, are being controlled. You see? It doesn't matter where one's true loyalties are. Controllers chose to cooperate because they are genetically engineered to do so. The fighters cooperate because, well, they aren't truly in control, are they? It's a beautiful system, is it not?"

He tilted his triangular head. "We do find that Frieza's fighters are best. They're the strongest warriors, true, but that's only part of what makes them valuable. They are easiest to control because under all the fear of disobeying, his warriors truly hate him. So you see? We take Frieza's men away from him at the same time we recruit. It's magnificent."

The cold in her veins was new. Usually her rage was hot. This… this new fury was something that had been beyond her comprehension before these animals had started messing with her mind. She hungrily drank it in, embracing for the first time pure, Saiyan emotion. Right then, she fully submerged herself within the violent, throbbing thrill of anger. Pulsing with this untainted freedom, she understood Vegeta in a new but fundamental way and part of her loved him right then for enabling this sensation. And rescuing her from addiction.

When she spoke, her voice was a just above a whisper, but she was distantly pleased and impressed with herself. She had never heard herself sound so…. terrifying.

"And why did you not forgo the controllers and just use the drug on the fighters?" She heard herself growl, and shocked herself into silence. Well. Ok. She could growl, now. She grinned feraly. Ooh. Very useful. She stepped forward and her grin spread into a smile. She _liked_ channeling mad, powerful Saiyan!

The bug backed up a step but refrained from pushing through the curtain. His mandibles quivered and his antennae stood on end. "It… wouldn't do for a fighter to feel euphoria. If they bothered to fight, all senses would be dulled. And-"

Bulma cut him off with the wave of a hand. It wouldn't matter if he understood that Saiyans in fact _did_ feel euphoria when they fought. That wasn't the point. Nothing would make any of this acceptable to her, even if they all were a bunch of fat, happy, euphoric zombies. Reluctantly, she let the rage subside, but was disoriented for a moment when it didn't completely fade. Frowning, she realized the anger was coming from the part of her mind that connected her to the Saiyan. She sighed and turned towards the chair. If their brains were connected, anyway, it would be useful to learn control. Vegeta had said he would teach her how to control her telepathy, but her instinct told her that whatever he taught her would be more beneficial to him than to herself. He'd likely teach her how to create a one sided barrier that kept her out of his head, but leave a back door so he could look in her head whenever he wanted.

She glanced over her shoulder. "You know that drug won't work on me, which is why you're nervous. You wouldn't bother being nervous unless you wanted to keep this a secret. That suits me just fine." She started running her fingers over the switches, tubes, and electronics.

Turning around, she raised an eyebrow. "How is this thing supposed to work?"

The first few hours, Bulma was more frustrated than anything else. She had thrown the virtual helmet on the floor and let her head fall back on the head rest of her chair. Wiggling a bit, she decided that the thing was comfortable, but it would have to be. Controllers could sit in these things for days; some of the tubes were for intravenous fluids and nutrition. She wrinkled her nose. Others were for removing waste.

She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. She felt her heart beating and started to relax, letting her mind drift. She imagined she could see the sun on Earth and reached out to feel the warmth on her fingertips. Instead of warmth, she felt cold. Intending to sit up and search for the switch that heated her chair, she was distracted when she felt weightless and disoriented. She tried to move but her limbs wouldn't respond. Starting to get nervous, she told herself to get a grip and clearly directed her body to obey. When she opened her eyes and turned her head to the left, looking for the switch, she nearly fell out of her skin.

Instead of the cubicle with its circuitry, electronics, buttons, switches, and wiring, she saw a horrifying, bottomless, directionless, black pit. Panicking, she tried to back away and her vision shifted as she fell back. She sat down hard, and the awareness of excruciating pain exploded from her tail bone. She jerked. What the fuck? She expected to _feel_ pain, but didn't. It was as if her brain told her the pain was there, but her body couldn't be bothered to agree. Terrified, her eyes darted in every direction, trying to understand what the fuck was happening. Something fluttered oddly in her awareness and she focused on it. It was at least _something_ to take her mind away from this nightmare. The last time she had felt so full of dread was when Radditz had invaded her mind.

She was in a rocky pit, laying on her back. It was nearly impossible to breathe and her lungs both burned with the effort and froze with every pull of air she did take. Her head spun and she tried to clear it. Again, that flutter grabbed her attention and she looked to the left. A blur of green flashed and was gone. Something in her muscles screamed for her to _MOVE_. She didn't know how, but she found herself suddenly squatting, looking at the rim of the pit. What?

It was very difficult to force herself to look away. It was as though something were resisting… so she pushed harder. Anger bloomed within her chest. It was so palpable she could almost taste it. She tried to distance herself from it. She felt – or almost felt? – like something grabbed her – tackled her - from behind. Her vision swam as she tried to focus on a horizon that was tumbling in a way that completely perplexed her perception of what up and down should be. She flew quite a distance before descending back to the surface. Distantly, she felt as though she should be feeling pain. Something was pummeling her. Fists? She blinked. She saw the green alien in between explosions of vision. This was impossible.

She opened her mouth to scream but couldn't hear it. Nothing about this was right. Something in her mind snapped. This wasn't real. This wasn't happening to her….

Not happening to _her_.

_Vegeta? _She thought, horrified.

_YES!_

Came a thought so clear in the center of her brain, she was certain it was a thought that came from outside of herself. Oh God. It wasn't the fact that she was inside his head with him – without the use of the virtual helmet! – It was the mental anguish with which he had answered her. He was petrified.

_What do I do?_ She sent him. Or thought she did. She didn't know what the hell she was doing.

_Let go of me! _He replied in a panic.

_I don't know how!_ She screamed.

_Figure it out! Immediately! Unless you _**want**_me to die? _Came the angry response.

She tried to withdraw from his mind with such force she felt as though her head would implode. She understood now that though she was aware of his pain, she couldn't actually feel it – but apparently, he could feel hers. Why? Why couldn't she share his pain? It wasn't fair that she was the cause but she was exempt from the consequences. If she was murdering him, she _should_ have to feel it! She couldn't feel him, but she could feel something hot and wet on her cheeks. She didn't know if it was blood dripping from her nose from attempts to pull away from his mind or if they were tears. It didn't matter.

Desperate, she thought furiously. She hadn't been able to connect with him when she tried. She had only been able to do so when she relaxed. She had no idea what she had done besides that – but she had relaxed dozens of times before and hadn't been sucked into his brain. What had she done differently?

Not knowing what else to do, she tried to let go of her thoughts and drift. She had been daydreaming she was floating on her back in the watering hole in the dinosaur sanctuary behind her house. She had felt the cool waves on her skin and the warmth – her heart skipped a beat.

_Vegeta! Veteta, look at that star!_

She felt his confusion. It was groggy and distant, like he was just waking up from sleep. Or about to lose consciousness. Concentrating, she forced his head to turn towards the asteroid belt's closest star. The searing light blinded her for a moment, but when she opened her eyes, she saw her cubicle. She shot up out of the chair and swung her legs around to stand up. The feel of the floor under her feet grounded her. She took a few breaths and closed her eyes. Prepared this time, she reached for him. She wasn't in control like she was before, but she was again inside his head, looking through his eyes. Willing him to get up and fight back, she threw every mental insult she could. She got nothing from him except a bemused irritation. He wanted to get up, but something about sleeping was too appealing.

Bulma did the only thing she could think of. In a way, it was a kind of payback that would serve him right and she couldn't help a nervous grin. She grabbed the large bundled power relay chord connecting her chair to – well, everything. She twisted and yanked, grunting until it yielded to her efforts. Taking in a few extremely anxious, deep breaths, she cringed and stuck the prongs into the flesh of her bicep. Pain sizzled through every nerve and synapse as every muscle in her body contracted. Distantly, she laughed at herself in irony. She had peed herself again. Huh. Go figure.

Just as the tips of her hair caught fire, she lost consciousness. But not before she felt the sweet rush of Vegeta's pure wrath surge under her chestbone. He didn't need his ki. He was pissed off enough to disintegrate her through the rock of the asteroid with nothing but his fury. That green dick head didn't have a chance.

Hours later, they both floated half dead in regen tanks. Even through the liquid of both pods, she could feel the heat of his stare. She pretended to be asleep, but she knew it was futile. He was quite aware that she was awake. She frowned but opened her eyes. May as well face the music.

After a few minutes, he still had yet to speak. Strangely, she couldn't sense what he was feeling. It was disconcerting. She blinked. What _should_ be disconcerting is that she had come to rely on her sense of his moods and background thoughts. Scowling behind her breathing mask, she was forced to float in silence, waiting for the inevitable ball to drop. So – she floated in her tank and he in his, eyes glued to one another's, neither saying anything.

She almost fell back to sleep when she felt a nudge. Her eyes fluttered. She was about to close them again when she felt a mental shove. Her eyes popped open and she looked at the alien floating next to her. He was still glaring at her, but his expression seemed softer than it had been. At least, less intense. She raise an eyebrow at him and he lowered his.

_Why did you want me to look at the star? _He asked.

She snorted in amused disbelief. Seriously? She had expected accusations, declarations of loathing, death threats – but… he wanted to know about the damn sun?

Bemused, she tried to formulate an answer in words. At the time, she had been working on instinct.

_I think I got into your head because we were thinking about the same thing at the same time. It seemed logical to do the same thing to get out of your head._

He narrowed his eyes skeptically and peered at her.

_I was not thinking of stars. _He stated flatly.

_No. You were thinking that green guy was going to put himself between you and the star, to blind you right before attacking. I was also thinking of starlight. Well. _Sun_light, anyway._

He scoffed. _You risked my life on the belief that forcing me to look at a star would free me?_

She grinned under her breathing mask. _It was worth the risk at the time._

His eyes widened briefly with incredulous shock. Blinking a few times, she was thunderstruck when she realized the violent expulsion of bubbles in his tank meant that he had coughed trying to contain laughter. It lasted only a moment, but again – it wasn't the reaction she had expected. Neither had he, apparently, because he was scowling again at her. Pshh. As if it was _her_ fault he found her funny.

Hmf. Might as well take advantage of his talkative mood. It wasn't like he could kill her more than once if he decided the risk really was worth it.

_So. Have you ever lost control of your ki before? From over stimulation, I mean._

She felt a wave of dark anger swell. Apparently this wasn't a safe subject. She was about to say nevermind when he surprised her by answering.

_You wish to know the manner of such a death?_ His eyes sizzled with heat and rage, yet his voice in her head was cold and quiet.

_My ki would cook your flesh from the inside. Your blood would_ _boil and rupture the veins and arteries throughout your body. Your cells would burst and all the fluids would thicken into a viscous sludge, pushed out of your skin from every poor. Your organs and your eyes would melt. Yet you would live because ki in such form is the essence of life. And all the while you died yet lived, I would be in rapture and you would be forced to feel my ecstasy._

_Did he know from experience?_ She tried not to think the words, but knew she failed when he answered her.

_Yes…_

Bulma shuddered and fear – real fear – seized her heart when he smiled predatorily at her. She couldn't see it behind his mask, but she knew with cold certainty that it was there.

* * *

A/N: Is it just me? Or does everyone get obnoxiously giddy when they post a new story or chapter? I'm trying to write something new (at least, something I've never seen?) with new ideas. Lemme know if I'm way off the mark or if you have ideas for me to include! Love your reviews - they keep me motivated!


	20. Chapter 20

Bulma allowed her heavy lids to close and took a deep, slow breath. Her brows furrowed when the scent of fresh air failed to tickle her sense of smell. Opening her eyes, she looked at the cave ceiling, too high above her and obscured by darkness to actually be seen. Still, she kept her eyes open and unfocused. She was looking beyond the claustrophobia of the cave, anyway.

"Vegeta," she spoke in a whisper. It wasn't necessary. He was light years away and couldn't hear her. Not out loud, anyway. She felt his awareness shift and focus when she called his name, but he didn't answer. She was used to it. Vegeta wasn't very vocal. He tended to communicate with impressions, visuals, and emotions. At times, it was so subtle she could mistake his thoughts for her own. Other times, it was so overwhelming, she was certain he was using their telepathic link as a weapon.

Still capable of blocking her out – albeit with tremendous effort that left them both reeling in thunderous headaches – he only did so rarely. Sometimes, he simply ignored her. Rather, he allowed her to prattle on, responding every so often to things she would have imagined would be of no interest to him. Maybe he was mocking her…. But after a time, she learned. She could sense the nuances that made Vegeta uniquely Vegeta. She knew when he was truly listening because he was genuinely interested – even if he would deny it. They both knew those denials were out of principle, but she never argued with him. She could pluck anything she liked from the recesses of his mind, and he knew it. She never did, though. She would never betray him like that. Though she had never said so, she knew with certainty that he understood this and believed it.

She cherished his trust. He didn't trust her with many things, but he trusted her with his mind. It was daunting and it scared her. She didn't want to lose that trust, and keeping her nose out of his brain was growing more difficult as her telepathy grew in strength. Especially when she was tempted to snoop. So, to prevent an accidental breach, she pulled his mind into hers when they spoke. The first time had been unintentional. She had caught a stray memory as his mind drifted, and she had done the only thing she could to prevent herself from spying. She had flinched violently back into her own brain, calling up a memory of her own. It wasn't a true memory; it was one she had concocted as a little girl. A soft, golden breeze blowing spring leaves and willow wisps, shadows and secrets hiding amidst the ancient trees, a gurgling river splashing over rocks, pixie dust floating fat and free in the lazy afternoon, faeries clad in colorful flower petals and forest decorations dancing among the lilipads and pollywogs, jousting with each other using cattails for lances and dragon flies for mounts. It was magical and she always fled here to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin when she was lonely. It was a place she knew well, and she relaxed. It wasn't until she felt his irate attempts to mentally retreat from her enchanted hideaway that she had even realized she had pulled him into her own mind as she had fled his.

They had never manifested in such a way before, yet there he had stood before her, looking completely out of place and menacing. And just a little embarrassed. She had been embarrassed herself – not for showing her secret retreat, but because she had lost control of her telepathy. Again. Immediately, she had relaxed her grip on him, expecting him to tear away as quickly as he could. Instead, she was awed when he had lingered a few moments, looking into the landscape she had subconsciously created. He seemed... curious; though his eyes remained clouded with wariness – he was incapable of completely smothering out the wonder. His gaze had eventually found hers. He had seemed strangely peaceful in that moment just before disappearing.

It was somehow no surprise that when they manifested, which was exceedingly rare, that they would end up there. Her magic place.

She let her head fall to the side and looked at the place where Vegeta slept when he was here, which wasn't often. Once it was determined that she had control of Vegeta, their captors had started sending him out on missions with the other – she hated the word, but didn't know what else to call them -puppets. They always targeted the white lizard. Not directly. Rather, planets that were logistically valuable; planets with supplies, planets that controlled commerce, planets that trained fighters. Vegeta was becoming quite notorious for his over efficiency. They were supposed to go in, take out targets, and get out. Vegeta had other ideas.

Bulma allowed the Saiyan complete physical control over himself and concentrated on gathering intelligence using the incredible systems and networks she literally plugged into every time she was supposed to control Vegeta. It was amazing what she could do with computers. She had been a genius with them before – but now, she literally _became_ one with the machines. All she needed to do was think, and information came to her. It was incredible.

She and Vegeta were unstoppable.

So much so that they were quickly becoming a target for retribution. So far, no one knew the identity of the destructive entity. So, there was no reason to stop. She could stay ahead of any pursuer and even divert them by implanting false information in their networks. Vegeta could keep doing what Vegeta so enjoyed. It was perfect. So instead of razing a place and disappearing, Vegeta, under Bulma's direction, would target persons of interest or networks that would provide useful information. Partially to cover any evidence and deny the enemy resources, and completely because he was Saiyan, Vegeta would then destroy everything on his way out.

At first, Bulma had protested. She refused to cause him physical pain - it felt like another method of betrayal – so she came up with unconventional methods to try and convince him. Inspired by whatever muse revealed itself within his current environment, she would find a soundtrack on her ipod-1290. She had smuggled it inside one of the charm capsules on the bracelet she wore and wholeheartedly believed that she'd trade everything else she had packed into those capsules for this single item. It drove Vegeta nuts. The first time she had used it, the stubborn asshole had been ignoring her increasingly aggravated demands to abandon his mission of hunt and go kill. Apparently, he intimately knew this particular planet and didn't need her help. Several former colleagues were still there and he wanted to say…hi.

When he had finally found the person he had been searching for, she could only watch. It felt as though the vacuum of space had sucked all the air out. Even the darkness seemed to tremble in the presence of a superior predator. The alien looked up with terror as Vegeta advanced….. and a brilliant idea had come to her. Flipping through the tracks on the music device, she found the perfect piece and excitedly taped the play button. She wasn't sure, but she had heard that the song was the introduction to a very old television show. Something to do with vampires. The words to this song flowed into her consciousness, and through their link, into Vegeta's.

_"__When you came in, the air went out. And every shadow filled up with doubt. I don't know who you think you are, but before the night is through, I want to do bad things with you…"*_

Vegeta had halted his advance. She was certain that a confused, sour look just _had _to be on his face. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the offensive noises and Bulma laughed so hard she cried. Eventually, Vegeta had been able to exact his revenge, but she supposed the taste of victory had curtled in his mouth just a little bit. She knew she was going to pay for it, but it was well worth it. She supposed he realized she felt this way – they were linked after all – so instead of a brooding silent treatment or the inevitable head ache that came whenever he tried to push her out of his head, he had surprised her. Sure, he was flustered… but it was his _amusement_… that shocked her. He never admitted it. But they both knew it. On the surface, he had pretended the whole incident had never happened – like refusing to acknowledge it would encourage her to become bored with and eventually abandon it.

Wrong.

Since that time, she'd find an appropriate piece of music to fit any and all events. It was like their own soundtrack. She'd play the Mission Impossible theme when he was sneaking into a compound, Darth Vader's Death March when he came upon a group he wanted to intimidate – and inappropriate, obnoxious songs when he was fighting or destroying things. The best example of her little game was when Vegeta had come across an alien with obvious gender identity issues - unless that species of alien naturally looked like the societal fringe-clinging drag queens on Earth - and the alien had tried to speak to the Saiyan. The noises that she couldn't make herself believe was an actual language had made her blush with how indecent it sounded. Vegeta had also thought the language was appalling – so naturally, Bulma played "Talk Dirty" by an ancient rap group. That had even elicited a laugh from the usually grumpy Saiyan, though he had tried to disguise it as a cough. Most of the time she sensed his disgruntled tolerance, but every so often.. just maybe… she thought he didn't mind it so much. Once he had asked her how she was able to recall music with such clarity that he was able to hear it. She had told him then of her music contraption.

"It's my iplease," she had said with frivolous unconcern.

When she felt his puzzlement, she had laughed. "It's called that because I do as I please. So suffer it, Saiyan!"

He had snorted, but had never commented or complained. Sometimes, times like right now, she would feel his mind brush up against hers and she knew. She'd play soft, sad music until they drifted to sleep.

But, she couldn't sleep. She should be exhausted. They had completed another mission – the second to the last before Vegeta was scheduled to return to the asteroid. It had been months, this time. Though she supposed she should be more concerned for herself, weak and alone in a cave full of warriors who would love nothing more than to tear apart one of their puppet masters, she was unafraid. She was left alone. She did worry about Vegeta, though. She shouldn't, she knew. But… the idea of him dying out there made her guts feel like pudding. What if he died and she was inside his mind? Would her own mind feel like it was dying? Could she pull away to protect herself and let him die alone? Without him, would she ever get out of here?

She shoved the thought from her mind. The mission was over, and a success. The infrastructure of the planet was utterly annihilated. The parts that belonged to the lizard, anyway. Vegeta, for a change, wasn't being sent to kill innocents. Somehow, it didn't surprise her that, though he could kill easily and indiscriminately, he was quite indifferent to it. He was violent – but violent in the way of a warrior. He thrived in blood lust and battle, but he felt nothing when faced with the act of killing. Months ago, she might have believed this as cold and heartless. Now – now she believed he'd prefer not to kill. Maybe it wasn't for any lack of evil that thrived on suffering, but rather from a lack of a reason compelling enough for him to bother - but hey, it was something. Not that he'd wait for people to get out of the way. But at least he didn't go out of his way to target people, either.

She closed her eyes and again tried to smell the air he breathed. This time, he allowed it. Or didn't prevent it, anyway. Her heart lifted. It had been more months than she could remember, stranded in the darkness and staleness of the asteroid. Come to think of it… she frowned.

_Vegeta. Why is it that whenever you're out and about, it's nighttime? I haven't seen the sun in so long I can barely remember it._

He grunted and shrugged to himself. It was a rhetorical question. Of course you infiltrate an enemy compound under the shroud of darkness. She knew this so he didn't bother answering. But. He understood her nostalgia. Many times in his life he had been deprived of light. For a Saiyan, whose home world had three suns, it was particularly difficult to adjust to constant darkness. It had been weeks since his own exposure. A strange sensation tickled the animal within him. He knew the feeling for what it was, but he had never felt it for anyone other than himself. He actually empathized with the human. Tilting his head to examine the emotion, he rolled it around his mind, careful to keep it hidden. When he made a decision, the emotion faded as though it were no longer needed.

Standing from a crouch on the skeletal beams of ruins he had created, he jumped to the ground and walked into outlying fields. The plants were some sort of grain, and he allowed the stalks to brush against his fingers. They parted as he walked and flowed back into place behind him. When he had pushed through to the center of the greenish-gold sea, he stood and looked all around. Undulating in the wind, it really did appear that he was in the middle of an ocean, lit by a bright, fat moon. The thought compelled him to turning his gaze to the sky so he could look at the moon. It wasn't full, but the pull of ozaru just under his skin was almost painful. Accustomed to this, he suppressed the beast and cleared his mind.

Bulma's eyes flew open and she stiffened. Around her, a sea of rust red infiltrated her senses in the form of boulders, sand, and thrilling plants that twisted in defiant angles and reached their proud branches towards the sky. Their plumage was magnificent and glowed in colors she had never seen. In fact, she discovered confused, everything had a strange glow. She tried to turn her head and found that she couldn't. Growing alarmed, she subconsciously reached out for Vegeta and felt a mental _oof _when he was much closer than she had realized. Almost like he were standing behind her close enough to breathe down her neck. Closer? In fact..

_Vegeta is this..?_

She could sense his affirmative. Slowly, he relaxed his mental grip on her and she was able to move about the physical manifestation of his memory. The illusion wasn't complete; only her thoughts were present; she couldn't interact with the environment, but she could look around.

She was awed. The sky was a brilliant shade of violet, almost as if it were dusk. Turning, she saw three suns, two that were firey-red and seemed so close she could reach out and touch them, and one a distant, white pin prick in the sky. Three suns… so why was it so dark? She moved towards a copse of trees and plants, stubbornly growing out of the jagged rocks in formation surrounding a small pool. The water seemed thick, like it would resist with more fervor than the water of Earth, should she try to push her finger through the surface. There were flashes of dazzling colors sparking on and off like lightning bugs around the thrushes and plants. They flashed in bright reds and blues and streaked patterns of light that faded after a few moments of life. The very air seemed to sparkle in a breeze that smelled like the electricity of a lightning. It reminded her of an approaching storm while drifting on the sea, glowing plankton swirling around the wake of a ship at night. Only – it was broad daylight.

Bulma paused, thinking furiously. It was clear to her that Vegeta was sharing a memory of the suns of his planet. But before she could succumb to the immensity of this gift, the scientist in her needed to understand something.

_Vegeta, _she thought to him. _Why does everything glow? It's almost like – _She swallowed her words in surprise. Excited, she continued._ You see in infra-red, don't you?_

She felt his grin and her own smile widened. Like a child, she ate the scenery like it were candy. It was.. it was… _magnificent, _she whispered reverently.

When she returned to her own mind, it took her a moment to compose herself. She suddenly felt heavy and depressed. To see something so glorious just to be displaced to a place so barren and empty, dark and featureless was almost more than she could take. She mourned for a moment, but forced the sadness to the back of her chest cavity.

_Do you always see in infra-red? _She asked, almost timidly, still at war with her emotions.

He considered her before answering.

_No_

Frustrated, she frowned. Typical. Getting him to speak was – she had half a mind to believe he did it on purpose just to piss her off.

He laughed.

Hmf. The only way to get him to talk was to distract him and hit the target from a different direction.

_On Earth. The mask you were wearing. What was its purpose if you can see in the dark?_

He paused. Then shrugged.

_The mask enabled me to see through certain elements. It also chemically converted the local atmosphere into breathable oxygen. _He grunted before adding, _It filtered visible light and altered it to appear in any spectrum I thought provided a suitable advantage._

_Sheesh, _Bulma thought, making certain the thought wasn't overheard. _He doesn't speak. But when he does speak, he has to choose the most ridiculously flowery words he possibly can. _She grinned to herself.

_And you took off your mask in that alleyway. So – _she twitched when she realized something. _If you hadn't removed it, you'd have been able to see through the smoke on the edge of that crater. You'd have seen that blast coming before it hit you and dodged. _

When he responded with silence, she had to swallow a ball of guilt. It wasn't as difficult as she'd have believed. He saved her life by standing in the path of that blast. If he had seen it coming, she wouldn't be alive.

She shoved that thought away easily. Probably because another thought assaulted her. One where she darted into the alleyway like a terrified, muddied pig, wondering what she had looked like as she did so. She lowered her eyebrows and wrinkled her nose.

_If you could see me in any visible spectrum, why did you bother to take off your helmet to look at me?_

She felt his surprise followed by annoyance at being surprised – right before everything was abruptly cut off by a mental wall. Oh, what a baby. Every time she caught on to something interesting, he had to hide it away. God, he was a pain in the ass.

She concentrated on the wall and imagined it to be physical – at least, that's how she shut him out when she didn't want him listening in. If it were physical, it was easier for her mind to hold. Ideas slipped away without something to anchor them. So, she pictured a big, stone wall that stretched upwards and out of sight. Stones of speckled granite and cracked lime covered in moss, bleached lichen, vines clinging and crisscrossing as far as the eye could see in all directions. This was her wall. She leaned her ear against it, as if to listen for sounds coming from the other side. Stepping back, she raised a hand and touched one of the cold stones and wondered if Vegeta pictured a physical wall, or if he could keep her out simply using sheer will. The wall vibrated where she touched it and became warm. She couldn't be certain, but for some asinine reason she suspected Vegeta was standing on the other side – his fingers resting on the very same stones as her own.

She scoffed at herself. _He's right, Bulma. You __**are**__ a ridiculous human._

Turning from the wall, she began to walk away when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She stopped. Slowly, she answered his unasked question by nodding. Yes. She really wanted to know. Why remove the mask?

_I wanted to see you without obstruction._

His uncertainty, frustration, disbelief, and above all, _curiosity_ from that night filled her. Why had Radditz chosen this human? What made her so special? He had removed his mask to see her as she truly was with his own eyes.

Bulma saw herself through those eyes. To her surprise, she appeared normal. When he had said he didn't always see in infra-red, she thought it had been his mask that enabled him to see as she did.

She tucked the thought away for later scrutiny as her focus was pulled once more to Vegeta's point of view – she was looking at her own face. She remembered feeling disgusting and beaten down. She knew she had been smeared in blood and dirt. She had known she was covered in soot and half her skin was torn and crusted with things she didn't care to remember.

But –

Vegeta hadn't seen those things. Or rather, he had looked past them as if they were of no importance. Physically, he had seen her as weak – but delicate in a way that seemed worthy of protecting. That had surprised him, but he dismissed it easily as if the information were irrelevant. Aside from that, and an acknowledgement that she was physically appealing, he hadn't given much attention to her appearance. He had seen her as – captivating – worthy of granting a few moments of distraction. She was contradictory; there was innocence there, but also a fierceness that bespoke an understanding of all that was far from innocent. How could that be?

She was… a beautiful plumed bird in a cage; defiantly bright and saucy, daring to flaunt her song fearlessly despite the hopeless bleakness around her. She knew darkness surrounded her. She… simply refused to let it touch her. Everything he knew demanded such a creature to break under such circumstances. Yet, somehow, she thrived. Even the darkness around her seemed unwilling to crush this tiny spark.

Something within him had quaked in the face of such ferocious refusal to submit. Such a powerless being should be full of fear - lay broken and defeated at his feet – yet somehow, just like she had done with the darkness, she had stolen his will. For a moment, he had forgotten his rage.

Right then, he had felt exposed – but the sensation hadn't been unpleasant. The feeling was unfamiliar. Frieza could reach inside his soul and twist, but the lizard's clawed fingers found the Saiyan spirit like water in his hands. It flowed away and couldn't be held. Yet this ridiculous human, just for a fleeting, half-formed moment, had captured the beast within – and the beast had rejoiced.

The sensation hadn't lasted long. Vegeta had tasted it, rolled it over in his mind, then had let it go in favor of disgust. How dare those oddly shaped, impossibly colored eyes look right into him and ignore his darkness? His strength?

His disgust was directed at himself, he knew. She had seen the only part of him that he hadn't learned to fully control, and that part of him wanted freedom. Indignant, he had abandoned her there.

He left the scouter with her. It was more hers now, anyway; a prize she had won. Plus he didn't need the reminder of what must have been some kind of failure. A loss of pride? Who knows. He didn't care so he turned to leave. He still didn't know precisely why Radditz had chosen her – the entire point of paying her the compliment of studying her was for naught. He had gained no answers despite the memories he had taken from her. Begrudgingly, he admitted that Radditz had in fact chosen her, even if the reason remained a mystery. There was nothing more for him to learn so Vegeta had simply accepted that Radditz, like his father, could see glimpses of the future and had discerned that this woman was important to his future in some way. Or so Radditz believed. Vegeta had dismissed the notion and flown off… even if the scent of the woman lingered to tease his nostrils and piss him off.

The memories – and the vision of herself through his eyes – faded. The air was thick with tension. Bulma didn't think it had been his intention to allow her that much insight into his memory. Not knowing what else she could do to diffuse the strain – and because she didn't want the awkwardness – she completely ignore it. Instead, she turned to face the mental projection of Vegeta. She wasn't sure whose mind they were in, but she supposed it didn't matter.

_So. You can choose when to see in infra-red and when not to without your helmet. _She bounced on her toes and flicked her eyes up and down the length of his form before focusing on his stoic gaze. She narrowed her eyes and studied his face. It was incredible how stony and unreadable his expression could be. What an ass.

_How can you see in two different wave lengths with only one set of eyes? _She finally blurted.

He shifted his weight and lowered his chin slightly. Then, he blinked rapidly. Twice? No. Three times, in quick succession. It almost appeared as though his eyes had changed from black to red, then black again. It startled her and she stepped back. Huh?

He grinned and lifted his chin.

_I close my secondary lids._

This time, he blinked more slowly and Bulma could see what he meant. Her jaw dropped. Like a crocodile, Vegeta had a set of thin membranes that acted like a second set of eyelids. They made both of his eyes look entirely red.

She stepped forward and reached her hands to his face. So enthralled, she didn't even notice him clench his jaw at her presumption that she could breech his personal space – let alone touch him. He rolled his eyes under the red membranes knowing she couldn't see it. Though he could see perfectly – these lids acted like a filter that allowed him to see in infra-red – he knew all she could see where the red color of the lids.

She pulled at the flesh surrounding an eye to peer at the round eyeball underneath. If she heard him growl, she pretended not to notice. Knowing this would be over much more quickly if he just allowed her to satisfy her curiosity, he tolerated her. She looked ridiculous with her mouth hanging open and her eyes star struck. _What an imbicile _he thought, not entirely unamused.

_Do they protect you from getting stuff in your eyes when you're flying? If a planet has an incompatible light spectrum, are you blind? Can you really see in the dark? Can you see in white light spectrum with one eye and infra-red with the other one at the same time? Do the suns of your planet project white light and that memory was one with your lids down, or where your lids up and that's what your planet looks like naturally? Do all Saiyans have that, because I don't think Goku has ever done it.. maybe he doesn't know he can? What do -_

He gripped her hands and pulled them away from his face and gave her a sour look, thinking it was a mistake revealing something that would invoke her scientific interest. She got the point and clicked her teeth shut. Blinking up at him, embarrassed, she realized what she had been doing. Slowly, she pulled her wrists from his grasp and stepped backwards to put distance between them. He responded by crossing his arms in front of his chest.

They stared at each other for a time. She still had sooo many questions, but wisely kept them to herself. He was still annoyed, but it was almost worth it considering how uncomfortable he knew it for her to remain silent after such a revelation. He cocked his head at her. Well. It was this or go back to the belly of the star ship and stare at the pitch blackness of the room he shared with dozens of retched aliens. Even with infra-red, it was too dark to see much.. but he could hear them. And smell them.

He chose to humor the human.

_First, my planet no longer exists. Frieza destroyed it when I was little more than a cub. I have few memories of my own. The image you saw was a memory given to me by Nappa; the last of our race with whom you've not been acquainted. _

Bulma stiffened but refused to allow further reaction of any kind. It was rare that Vegeta volunteered information and she didn't want to blow it. Besides. Anything she did would likely be seen as mockery – especially if it was sympathy. Instead, she tried to remain as neutral as possible and waited for him to continue. He narrowed his eyes, now unlidded, and peered at her. When she didn't respond, he continued.

_Two of Vegetasai's suns were such that infra-red was the natural spectrum. One sun was as your Earth's, but was very far away. When the twin suns dominated the skies, we had no use for our secondary lids. When the twins slept and only a solo star provided light, it was too dim to see and our secondary lids compensated for that lack._

She nodded enthusiastically and gestured for him to continue. He smirked.

_I occasionally fly with my lids closed for reasons that you should be able to ascertain on your own, as they are obvious. As with any planet, vision is dependent upon the light of its star – there are many that are incompatible to Saiyan eyes, which was one benefit of wearing a mask that could alter visual spectrums. I am able to see in near darkness, but I am blind when darkness is complete - however, my other senses more than compensate; your human reliance on a single sense is deplorable. Although it is possible, I fail to understand the relevance of closing one lid while the other remains open – if necessary, I would simply alternate between open lids and closed. As for your last question, no. Not all Saiyans have a second lid. Most who did not spend their first years on Vegetasai had no use for them. Like our first and second set of teeth, the lids fell out if they were not used._

Bulma suppressed a grin. He looked so arrogant standing there, reciting his heritage. The smile faded as she was reminded that his heritage ended with him. With new perspective, she reassessed the Saiyan standing in front of her. It wasn't arrogance. Though he had iron shad pride, that didn't apply here. It was as if he were simply reciting what he knew to be undeniable truth. Her smile returned. If one percent of the Saiyan race was like this Prince, they had every right to be cocky – for no other reason than they could utterly back it up.

When he saw her grin, his lip curled in suspicion. Taking a menacing step forward, he balled his fists in an unconscious challenge. Thinking fast, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

_What do I look like in infra-red?_

Startled, Vegeta stopped advancing. Unbidden, his memory flooded her senses.

She couldn't be certain, but she believed it was the moment he had seen her sleeping after returning from his first time on the asteroid's surface. It was when she had been returned after days recovering in the regen pod – the one that had been infused with Saiyan DNA.

She supposed his secondary lids had been closed because he had been fighting on the dark side of the asteroid. That would make sense – he'd be able to see much better. He hadn't bothered to open them when he returned to the cavern. That's when he had seen her.

She… glowed.

The blue of her hair seemed lit from within; a turquoise that fell over the rocks on which she slept in silk waves. Her skin was white and flawless, so ethereal she could believe she was moonlight. She seemed so unreal – a phantom spirit peeking through the fog on the cavern floor like she was nothing more but pure light refracting within the mist.

She had never seen anything so hauntingly beautiful. Her chest ached.

Right before it filled with rage.

The urge to slaughter her warred with the desire to –

Bulma staggered back with the force of the wall slamming into her mind. Falling to her back, she winced in pain. Her body refused to move, which was odd since she was nothing more than a mental image of herself. She forced her eyes open – her _real _eyes - and instantly regretted it. Though she was still on her back in the cavern – ironically in the same spot she had just seen herself occupy through Vegeta's eyes – her mind felt far away. Blessed be because when she woke up, she'd have one hell of a headache.

Barely able to form thoughts, she drifted into unconsciousness. But not before wishing with all she had left that Vegeta's hangover would be a thousand times worse than her own.

* * *

"Bad Things" by Jace Everett from True Blood

"Talk Dirty" by Jason Derulo

Apologies for the delay in updating. I just got home from Afghanistan ;) Lots on my plate so keep me motivated!


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